From Dust We Came
by So Welcome the Rain
Summary: Klaine AU. Earth has come to a chaotic end. Unspeakable terrors stalk the land. Only a few, blessed with the Skill, live in safety - leaving the rest of humanity to stand alone. Kurt is gifted in the Skill, but a chance encounter will change everything.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Ok,this is my first attempt at fanfiction. I love Glee – especially Klaine – and I love reading the amazing stories on this site, especially when they are AU. So I thought I would combine Klaine with my equally burning love of fantasy and let my mind run wild! As this is a first-timer's timidly presented offering, I would of course be very grateful for any thoughts or suggestions you have to offer!

This story is entirely Klaine (though a few other random Glee characters may pop up from time to time), and completely AU and delicious fantasy.

At this stage I hope it will be suitably epic (as all good fantasy should be)!

Rated **M** for some violence and later, more adult developments…

I, of course, own no part of Glee, not even Kurt and Blaine – who are (sigh) the intellectual property of Ryan Murphy and Fox.

Please excuse my brief piece of description at the beginning of this chapter – I like to start things off slowly. I promise Kurt will make his entrance very shortly!

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><p><strong>An Introduction<strong>

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><p>High above the surface of the Earth the great emptiness of sky is filled with infinite invisible pieces of nothing – well nothing that is (any longer) important, that is. These particles, specks, dust – they drift and dance – buffeted by wind, rain and anything that moves through them regardless of size (for they are so small as to be almost nothing at all). They float on columns of air, soaring higher and higher, until they find a new pocket of air, less dense than the first, or a change in temperature, whereby they fall, only to be picked up a moment later to be thrust somewhere else.<p>

The group of particles that we are interested in were not drawn together by any mutual attraction or any purpose of destiny – simple chance brought this collection of nothings within bumping distance of each other, to be transported by the same stream of air on their erratic dance. At the moment we find them they are sinking, very slowly, as they are being swept along a ridge of low, weathered mountains which are themselves covered in a deep, dense expanse of equally weathered forest. As they sink they twirl happily in the air, clashing against each other in a gleeful manner.

Soon, as the gnarled trees of the forest begin to thin, evidence of an entirely different habitat can be seen. Under the twirling mass of particles buildings begin to emerge from the darkness – sparse at first, but becoming more concentrated the closer the particles are pushed towards the ground. Not a single one of these buildings seems to remain untouched from the rampaging madness that must, at one point, have swept through this place. Roofs collapsed onto walls ruined through terrible force, or maybe just the decay of time. Steel, wood, stone – all discarded, like limbs from a corpse - give the whole landscape the feel of the graveyard. The particles may not appreciate it, but we can see that it is deserted – not a soul scrapes through the wreckage looking for any form of salvation.

Buffeted upwards once more we follow the particles towards the only structure that seems to have survived the terrible plight of the city below. Tall, menacing walls erupt out of the dark wreck, arching inwards at their peak and topped with vicious spikes. Within these rises a tower, seemingly haphazardly constructed, with odd bits, strange turns and no cohesion – perhaps constructed out of the discarded organs of the city below. Here there are signs of life – lights in the tower, some movement on the walls – people, we can see, as the particles dip once again to rush past the guards as they make their solitary marches along the top of the wall. We continue to tail the particles as they finally reach the miscellany-tower, and follow them once more as they are sucked up against its bulk into the dark sky above. Slipping to and fro across the tower we begin to slow as we slowly reach our destination. One of many, a small slit of a window, dimly lit, beckons quietly. As we reach its lip, another sharp gust blows our intrepid group of particles away from the tower to adventures yet undiscovered.

But here we must remain, for here our story begins. Within two young men are waiting for their lives to become…more interesting. Though they may not know it at this precise moment, you do, dear reader, which is, I suppose, the material point.

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><p><em>Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.<em>

The jarring rhythm pierces the silence at precisely the right interval to initiate maximum annoyance – just long enough to breed hope, just short enough to snuff it out…every time.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

The atmosphere in the small room grows palpably thicker, and the world seems to tense and hold its breath. A sharp crack rents the air, followed immediately by a soothing of the atmospheric tension.

"Hey! I was using that!" an indignant voice, tinged with humour calls from a dark corner of the room. A thin face (of some Asian origin – precise location unknown), attached to an equally elongated body moves into the thin strip of the room illuminated by three slender candles hovering several feet above the ground. "That was completely unnecessary! Do you have any idea how long its going to take me to find another one of these?" the thin boy says as he gestures towards the dimmest corner of the room, the flaccid remains of a rubber ball in his hand.

"I am simply beside myself with remorse," a smooth, high voice intones from the gloom. "I'm honestly not sure if I'll be able to forgive myself. What could you possibly do now to cause me to expire from annoyance?"

The tall boy smiles knowingly and turns to lean against the window sill. He closes his eyes and just manages to squeeze his head through the window, letting the light breeze spin through his hair.

"Oh I don't know. I could probably think of something!" he says to the night air, the smirk evident in his voice. And then he begins to hum, softly at first, but swiftly rising in volume. Completely unmelodious, his usually pleasant voice becomes the musical equivalent of nails scraping on sandstone, ignoring rhythm, metre and tone in his quest to produce the most unattractive song ever heard by human ears. Once again the air begins to condense – you can almost reach out and pinch it between finger and thumb. The tall boy in the window continues his 'song', his smile increasing with the density of the air as he waits for the inevitable. As predicted, the gloom in the corner explodes.

"Jesus, f…." the rest of his speech seems best lost to night. The candles clatter to the ground, the flames extinguished instantly. With a wave of his hand, which glows slightly in the dark, the tall boy rights them and, pointing his index finger in their direction, he restores their flame. Turning to the dreaded corner, the smirk even broader on his face, he gestures towards the candles.

"I think I'll leave the floating part to you – it's not really my strongest suit."

A slightly shorter boy emerges from the shadows. He is tightly wrapped in a maroon velvet robe - the hood, pushed up over his head, hides most of his face. With a dramatic flourish he sweeps it back, revealing a delicate, porcelain-skinned visage, framed by auburn hair which has been perfectly and delicately coaxed into its current, unmoving position. His blue eyes, usually sparkling with joy and intelligence, seemed to have darkened innumerable shades and are currently shooting invisible daggers across the room to his companion.

" 'Oh I don't know, I could probably think of something!'" he hisses, impatiently flicking his gaze to the candles which immediately resume their levitation. Turning his eyes back to the taller boy he sighs dramatically, placing one hand on his hip, leaving the other to comb through his hair in frustration, before he remembers himself and shoots it back to his side before he ruins it completely. "I was trying to meditate," he mumbles softly, frustration mingling with resignation in his tone.

"I hardly think that's necessary Kurt. Your Skill is more than adequate. It's outstanding. Incandescent. Brilliant. Monumental…

"Alright. Stop." the shorter boy snaps, casting off his robe in frustration and throwing it back into the corner. "What can I do for you this evening, Michael?" He seems less imposing now, defeated almost, as he rubs his fingers over his temple in an attempt to induce some form of calm.

Mike chuckles again and gestures towards the window. "What I always want Kurt – just a little bit of adventure. The night awaits – can't you hear her? She is calling our names, whispering of roads left untaken, of wonders as yet undiscovered, of monsters still un-slaughtered…"

Kurt sighs loudly and hangs his head for a moment, taking deep, slow breaths to compose himself. "Alright, fine. But if I even come close to being killed this time I shall not be merciful."

Mike's smirk becomes a ready grin and he rubs his hands in delight, the possibilities of this night too rich to consider all at once. "This. Is going to be amazing – I promise! I was thinking of perusing the wonders of the night to be found at the root of the forest. There's a row of huge buildings out there – factories of some form I would guess – who knows what they could be hiding!"

Kurt's sigh is slightly softer this time. "I won't ask how you know what's out that way – I don't really want to hear it. But judging by how small the trees look from up here I guess I'm going to be out all night?"

Mike's grin refuses to fade, his hands still remain clasped in anticipation.

"Fine, let's go. And remember, I would quite like to keep my limbs – I'm rather fond of them."

Kurt moves quickly across the room, which, apart from the floating candles, and the bed we can presume is situated somewhere in the hidden corner, is almost completely bare. The only other item is a small wooden chest, which Kurt now opens to remove a long, slender dagger, sheathed in simple leather and a quiver. He belts the sheath over his simple black trousers and light, cotton shirt, and pulls the quiver over his shoulder so it rests against his back. Crossing back to the door he reaches above it to remove his bow from its hook and walks back to Mike, who is still standing, staring calmly at the candles. Kurt hands him the bow, then turns around so Mike can fit it easily to the clip of the side of the quiver. When he is done, the shorter boy turns back to face him, nodding with satisfaction as he reaches over his shouder to check he can access his weapon quickly and easily. He looks up to the window, eyes piercing the darkness to seek what awaits them in the once-city.

"Let's go." he says softly. The two boys stare at the wall until Mike turns to look expectantly at Kurt, who raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow in reply.

"What? You're much better, neater, more extraordinary…"

"Ugh fine," Kurt snaps. His stare seems only to intensify and suddenly the wall, or least a small, controlled segment of it, explodes outwards with an ear-splitting crack. Immediately Mike pinches his thumb and forefinger together, glowing softly, which seemingly cause the sound to cease to exist.

Kurt shifts uncomfortably. "Thanks…I didn't think." Mike chuckles again, "I hardly think anyone would care too much about it, given the mayhem that's usually unleashed around here, but it doesn't hurt to be safe. Think nothing of it – let's go."

Both boys move to stand side by side on the newly-created ledge, watching the recently-vacated bricks as they hover in the air in front of them, ready to be replaced. Mike turns to smile at his friend once more. "See you at the bottom Kurt!"

He places both hands on the bricks beside him which are still happily in situ within the Tower and once again a glow shines forth beneath his touch. Kurt watches as he then swings the rest of his body into contact with the wall, a similar glow erupting from the soles of his shoes. With blinding speed Mike begins to swing and clamber down the Tower – within seconds he is virtually lost from sight into the dark – only an occasional flash of light betrays his position.

Kurt then turns his back on the night and prepares to make his own exit. With one last sigh he spreads his arms and falls backwards off the ledge. After enjoying the glorious rush of free fall for a few seconds he slows his descent so he can move the bricks back into place, leaving them loose for their hopeful return. He stays on his back, looking up at the great expanse of Tower as he floats downwards like a leaf from a tree. Despite his grumbling he does feel most at peace like this – free from the Tower and its inhabitants – answering only to himself and the night. With a small smile beginning to form on his lips Kurt closes his eyes and tilts his body so his feet point towards the earth. Like tipping over the edge of a slide he lets himself plummet downwards, revelling in the wind, the pounding in his ears, the thrill. The rush becomes almost deafening before Kurt brings his descent to a sudden halt, still floating several feet above the ground. He opens his eyes to find himself face to face with a brilliantly grinning Mike.

"So impressive! I wish I could do that!"

Kurt smirks before he can stop himself, producing a knowing laugh from his friend. "Come on you – you can demonstrate your brilliance whilst we're ridding the world of evil."

Kurt brings himself softly to land on the ground, discarded tiles from the wreckage of the city cracking beneath his feet. Both boys wince softly at the noise and glance furtively out into the darkness. Beyond the immense shadow extending from the Tower and its walls there is a relatively uncluttered perimeter, providing a clear line of sight for anyone patrolling the walls. Still clinging to the shadows the boys survey beyond the ring into the chaos of the city beyond, looking for any sign of movement. When none is detected, Kurt leaves Mike to keep watch whilst he cranes his neck to watch the guards on patrol above them. The inhabitants of the Tower are few, and the defences so impressive, that the human guard is minimal (which is how both were easily able to scale down the walls undetected). All they have to do is wait until their section of wall is unoccupied to make their crossing. As the last guard passes their position, Kurt taps Mike on the shoulder to communicate the opening. Moving quickly and staying close to the ground they dart across the perimeter and into the shadows of the ruined buildings beyond.

With one quick glance back at the Tower, both give a quick sigh of relief. Mike looks at Kurt with a new glint in his eyes.

"Alright! Let's get hunting!"

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it – let me know what you think!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **So this is nice and long – but I think it all fits neatly together.

**Warnings: **Violence, ghastly creatures, and subsequently a little bit of profane language.

And here we have 'you-know-who' making his spectacular entrance (no not _that_ You Know Who – wrong fandom)!

Thanks to all who alerted and favourited this story – I really hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p>Kurt can feel his heart clambering desperately at his chest, trying to claw its way out. His breath comes sharply and a searing pain shoots down his throat with each intake. With a last look around them he and Mike slump silently against one of the few remaining walls in their immediate vicinity, clutching for their water-skins. They have been jogging almost not stop, in furtive darts and hurried stops, through the once-city for what seems like endless, endless hours. Pointless hours. Kurt savours the sweet, soothing sensation of the water flowing down his throat to ease his boiling thirst. His breath comes easier now, longer and less ragged.<p>

The shapes of the ruined buildings around them are already beginning to loose their night-time plasticity to become the solid wreck that only the sun reveals – the edge of the sky is beginning to lighten as the sun makes its appearance. They really should be bringing their expedition to a close. It's not as if the city's numerous inhabitants show any change in the level of danger they pose with the impending sunlight – it is the inhabitants of the Tower he is most worried about. And their own chances of being allowed back inside once their absence is noticed. Slim to none, most probably.

Kurt almost opens his mouth to suggest to Mike that they turn back now. He chances a quick look across to his friend - Mike is staring straight ahead, water-skin dangling uselessly from his grasp. His eyes are fixed on nothing and are just as dark. Kurt sighs quietly – he cannot deny his friend his only satisfaction.

Brought together by their mutual love of the night, Kurt's provided by an insomnia he barely remembers not having, and Mike's by his love for unfettered adventure, the boys have been friends since there was any point in having friends. Always intrepid explorers of the darkness, their tame ramblings through the Tower grounds exploded into their current nightly routine two years ago when the unthinkable happened – Mike had lost his everything.

Kurt remembered the look that had settled across his friend's face, the same look that is etched across it now, when they had brought him the news of his sister's death. She had been killed by something…out here, doing exactly what they are doing now – exploring the night. The patrol that found her didn't even bring her home – they buried what they could find, leaving Mike with nothing but an empty heart and a misguided purpose. Every night since that day Kurt had followed him into the darkness hoping that somehow, in the number of things they killed, or in the terror and thrill of the hunt, Mike could find his missing piece, and put it back from where Lydia had wrenched it from his body. It hadn't happened.

So Kurt cannot bring himself to suggest they go back – not until Mike finds what he is looking for. Instead he takes one last, long draw of water, wipes his mouth and brow and stands up to lean against the wall. Extending a hand to the taller boy, he pulls Mike up beside him. "There has to be something around here somewhere. I can't believe we haven't run into anything yet." Mike nods in agreement, "It's been ridiculously quiet…I like it!" he says with his trademark grin, "It means we're about to stumble over something amazing!" Kurt sighs softly, gesturing out into the city. "After you, then." Mike complies immediately.

Kurt follows, jogging softly behind him. As they glance about for any scrap of movement, the landscape begins to change around them. Any remaining buildings become larger but much more widely spaced – they have reached the manufacturing district of the old city, and their destination. Before him Kurt can see the beginnings of the forest, slowly rising up into the mountains beyond, stretching as far as he can see.

Mike slows to a walk and turns down a side-street, gesturing for Kurt to follow. The damage and debris is more profound down this smaller street, and the two boys gingerly pick their way through husks of cars, with waves of garbage and slightly more organic matter strewn underfoot. Mike slows until they are walking side by side so he can whisper "There's a row of huge buildings, factories I guess, down this next street – perfect places for a lair. I thought we could check them out?" He looks to Kurt for confirmation, who can only nod in reply.

Another turn around a corner brings them in sight of a row of huge, ominous buildings littered with destruction. The chain link fences that once surrounded each individual compound are virtually non-existent – Kurt shudders to think what forces caused the tears through the fences and the buildings themselves – nature, man or something else entirely. Glass is an unknown substance in this age, and these windows are no exception. Littered everywhere like dead flies about the grounds and roofs of the buildings, are the carcasses of burnt out cars.

They begin to walk slowly along the row of factories - Kurt alert for any change in Mike's posture to show that he has seen something of interest. He almost walks straight into his friend's back when Mike stops abruptly, staring to his left at one building in particular. Mike turns and walks to the remains of the fence, linking his fingers through the metal and pressing his eyes against it to see clearly through to the sight in front of him. Kurt sweeps his eyes over the scene, trying to see what he had missed. It takes him several moments before he sees it, immediately reaching to unsheathe the long dagger from his waist, every muscle tensed and ready. He flicks his eyes very quickly to look at Mike, face meshed to the fence, eyes fixed on the very thing that made Kurt reach for his weapon. Lit dimly by the light of the approaching dawn, in front of the building, the ground seems to disappear into an enormous hole. Dirt is piled up around the edges, as if it has been dug – a burrow. But it isn't the hole itself that had caused Kurt's pulse to start hammering up through his jaw, for the dagger to become slippery in his grasp – it is what is scattered around the lip, what is smeared on the wall of the building above it – remains…most of them human.

"Mike! Mike – what the hell are you doing?" he hisses towards the fence, trying to keep his voice low and free of panic. When his friend shows no signs of moving he darts quickly up to stand beside him. Mike is gripping the fence with so much force that he is close to drawing blood – his eyes, still fixed on the burrow, are dark and muted. "Mike! Mike!" he says sharply, his voice now levelled and carefully controlled – someone has to take charge now or they will both be killed. Mike shakes his head slowly and wrenches his hands from the fence, a look of confusion crossing his face fleetingly. He glances across at Kurt who is now looking back and forth between him and the burrow. "What are we doing here, Mike?"

"We'll find it, figure out how to kill it, and do just that."

Kurt nods, swallowing slowly. "What the hell is this thing? Are…are those human parts – there's no one left in this city…who is it eating? I don't understand…"

Mike looks at him sadly, "Maybe the Tower doesn't always present everything completely accurately, Kurt. Whatever that is," he says, gesturing towards the burrow, "whatever it has been doing, to…whoever it's been doing it to, we're going to stop it. In fucking fantastic style!" a wild grin rents his face, matching the new expression in his eyes.

Kurt cannot stop himself from grinning back. He sighs softly to himself and feels a sense of calm descend about him. He reaches inside to some place he could never describe to anyone, yet somewhere he knows more intimately than he knows his own mind. With the Skill pushing and pulling at his head, waiting and wanting to be unleashed, he turns with Mike to face the building and the dark hole rent in the earth.

Dagger still clutched in his hand, Kurt steels his gaze and immediately lifts himself off the ground, and over the wreck of a fence to land softly on the other side. He drops to a crouch and listens for any sign of the presence they are about to engage – he hears none. Mike climbs the fence soundlessly, and drops down beside him. With an almost imperceptible nod Kurt assures him that all is clear and they both stand to jog closer to their target. As they move closer, the light breeze which has been so comforting on their run through the ruins betrays them by dragging the stench of the burrow to engulf them. Kurt tries not to gag and pulls up his shirt to form some form of protection between his nose and the now befouled air.

A few metres from the lip they slow their pace, creeping step after painfully controlled step towards the hole. Kurt forces himself not to cry out as the ground begins to shift wetly underfoot, dirt mixed with red and unspeakable sorrow. At the edge of the hole they peak down into the darkness – neither can see or hear anything more than the hurried beating of their hearts. Mike looks across at Kurt, the question written across his face. Kurt shrugs, leaving the decision to his friend. Just as Mike begins to take his first step over the lip and into the burrow, Kurt strikes out his hand. Stop. Kurt closes his eyes and breathes slowly, willing the Skill to the surface of his skin, to the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet. Something in the air has changed – something is moving.

Snapping his eyes open he sees Mike watching him, waiting for his instructions. Kurt darts quickly backwards from the hole, gesturing for Mike to follow him. A second later, as the boys compose themselves several metres back from where they previously stood, a low rumbling can be heard, coming from within the burrow, deep beneath the building. Kurt looks across at Mike, who nods, drawing his sword from its sheath at his side – a simple sabre with a curved blade. Kurt twirls his dagger in his hands, the motion of its long blade in the air calms him – he feels his heart begin to settle back into his chest. That's it, he thinks, just pump the blood around and around – I can handle this. Together they look towards the building as their peril approaches, waiting to see what will climb out to face them.

When it finally does appear, it certainly isn't what Kurt was expecting. Even given the size of the hole, he didn't think that anything which still lived in this ruin could ever be that large. Why has no one seen it? What on earth is keeping it alive? Roughly the same shape as a horribly modified bear, it is at least fifteen feet high at the top of its shoulder. It is completely bald, instead covered in a toughened, wrinkled skin that looks virtually impenetrable. On its forehead, a keratinised growth extends down to cover its eyes, presumably for protection, and out to the sides into vicious spines. Its teeth are all contained within its muzzle, but that offers very little comfort when it suddenly opens its jaw to emit the bone-chilling growl they had heard previously. Extending from its paws are chillingly human finger-like projections, each tapering to a long claw – the most intimidating on what would be the pointer fingers of its two front paws.

Looking down at his dagger, Kurt has a feeling this might call for something slightly more spectacular. He replaces it in its sheath, and pulls his bow from its clasp on the quiver across his back. In one fluid motion Mike twirls his sword in right hand, tossing it in the air to catch it in his left, simultaneously reaching for the throwing knives in his belt. By the time Kurt has pulled two arrows from his quiver and notched the first, Mike has thrown both knives, obviously aiming for the creatures head. The first reflects off the growth above its eyes and falls to the ground, but as the beast turns its head in annoyance, the second knife embeds itself in the muscle just below the angle of its jaw. It is the creature's reaction to this sudden pain that makes Kurt realise that they might have to seriously re-evaluate their strategy for this kill.

It rears up on its hind legs, a movement that he would have thought near impossible for a creature of its size, and begins to swipe at the air with its claws, trying to rid itself of the irritation in its muzzle. The boys take one second to glance at each other, eyebrows raised before they come to the same conclusion – the quicker they finish this the better. In the same moment Mike flips his sword back to his preferred arm and begins to run towards the creature.

Kurt hardens his eyes and shoots into the air, aiming carefully at the rapidly moving creature whilst trying to evade the flailing death at the end of its paws. He takes only a moment to line up the shot, then lets fly, replacing the arrow with a second as it is still on route. He knows before it hits that he has slightly misjudged the trajectory of the beast's head - he knows it will hit none the less, but it isn't a kill shot. The arrow hits its jaw in a similar position to Mike's throwing knife, but on the opposite side. The tip barely pierces the skin before the arrow is shaken loose by the rapid motion of the creature – he doubts it even noticed that anything happened.

He is wrong. Though no damage has been done the creature still evidently despises wounds deliberately inflicted upon it, no matter how small. Pausing momentarily in its quest to remove the knife from its jaw, it turns its head towards where he hovers in the air, and that moment is all Kurt needs to know that he has drifted too close. He moves quickly, but not quickly enough - with one swipe of its paw the creature knocks him from the air, grating its longest claw from his posterior ribs down across to his navel as it does so.

Kurt barely has time to register the searing pain ripping through his side before he slams into the ground and loses the ability to breath. Trying to force his brain to work even without oxygen, he flips himself over in time to see the thing, returned to all fours now, lumbering towards him with surprising speed. His bow is nowhere in sight so he tries to extract his dagger from where it has been pinned beneath his body. Somehow his fingers have ceased to function – all he can feel is dirt beneath them, though he can most certainly feel the dagger pressing into his back. The creature begins to slow as it reaches him, padding forward to greet its next meal. Almost upon him, it opens its jaws in preparation, and he can smell the rot and decay emanating from its mouth, he can see putrefying scraps of meat trapped within its teeth. And he can feel the press of death in the air all around him. He gropes within himself for the Skill, but he can feel nothing. He is trapped…dead…

And suddenly the death is gone - the stench is wrenched into the sky with the creatures head – roaring in fury. Clinging to its back is the friend Kurt had forgotten about in his momentary terror – Mike, however, is not easily forgotten. Instantly composing himself, Kurt flings himself from the ground, pulling his dagger from its sheath. Mike is using his Skill to hold him fast to the creature, wielding his sword to attempt to inflict some damage to its hide. When one vicious blow hits home, the thing again rears onto its hind legs and Kurt can see his opportunity. If they can get it onto the ground they might have the advantage.

He runs towards the creature, drawing his fingers along his dagger as he goes, causing it to glow brightly and emit heat sharply. He is taking no chances with seemingly impenetrable hides this time. Kurt circles around behind the creature, trying to avoid being trampled as it bucks and twists in an effort to rid itself of its burden. Taking his opportunity as it stands still momentarily, Kurt directs all his Skill at its legs – specifically at the Achilles tendons. He feels the energy flow into the creature and wills the tendon to break. He can feel the fibres become weaker – just a little longer…a little longer…nothing. It won't snap. Kurt growls in frustration – he has been working on tissue manipulation for months, and still nothing. Still, this is not the time for dwelling on the short-comings of his Skill. Time for the back-up plan.

His dagger still glowing hot and red, Kurt darts forward towards the creature, and in two swift motions, severs the tendons in both legs. He runs backwards as fast as he can, shouting a warning to Mike, as the thing totters on its back legs, its knees buckling as it tumbles to the ground. Kurt runs towards its head, dagger ready, but Mike is there first – a little dishevelled, but unhurt. As the beast scrambles at the ground with its front paws, trying to right itself, Mike raises his sword above his head. With a look Kurt ignites it as he had done to his own, and then he watches as Mike brings it down in a smooth, swift arc to sever the creature's head. The body twitches violently as nerves release their final bursts of activity, and both boys are sprayed with bright blue blood. Mike kicks the head away with a murmur of disgust. Kurt wipes the blood from his face with his shirt sleeve.

"Well that was entertaining I suppose," Kurt quips. He winces in pain as he remembers the wound to his side, and twists around to see the damage. "God, Kurt, are you ok?" Mike says, as he turns away from the corpse in concern. "Mmmm, I think it's fine…nothing a few stiches won't fix – though I think it might have broken a few ribs when I was rudely slammed into the ground." Mike furrows his brow in concern, but says nothing in reply. Kurt limps over to retrieve his bow from where it lies in the dirt, and then continues to probe his wound to satisfy himself that is neither life- nor cosmetically threatening, gasping when particularly strong winces provoke the pain in his ribs.

He looks back over his shoulder to see Mike stepping carefully around the remains of the creature to approach the burrow behind it. Kurt stops prodding his wound to turn around and watch as Mike takes a step over the lip. "Mike!" he yells, forgetting secrecy and concealment in favour of interrupting lunacy. He jogs over to join his friend (ignoring the streams of pain shooting up both sides of his chest), who has paused mid-stride at the sound of Kurt's voice. Looking down into the dark, dank pit Kurt places his hand firmly on the taller boy's shoulder, "What are you doing, Mike?" Mike looks at him sadly, "You said it yourself, Kurt – what…who has it been eating? Who did all this…" he gestures at the carnage around them "…belong to. These people weren't from the Tower – so where did they come from? Maybe there's something down there that can tell us. Maybe there's something beyond what we're living…"

Kurt flinches at the look of hope in his eyes. Was what they were living so terrible? A life locked behind terrible walls, forced to practice a Skill that had no purpose…yes, perhaps it was. "So you want to go into its lair?" Mike nods. "Hmmmm…I guess I'll be right behind you then." Mike gives him a small smile and continues to pick his way down the slope and into the blackness, sword held at the ready.

Kurt closes his eyes to compose himself before following, but something prevents him from opening them. The same pressure he felt around him with the creature bearing down upon him; the feeling that stopped him from reaching for the Skill, which he had thought was fear – it has returned. The air feels thick and sticky and he finds breathing heavy, difficult. Once again he tries to reach for his Skill for comfort, and once again its slips from his grasp – fleeing from him faster than he can chase it. He snaps his eyes open. Something is terribly wrong.

He looks in panic down at Mike's retreating form, but quickly changes his mind. Whatever this is, it isn't coming from the burrow. He suddenly has the terrible realisation that whatever this feeling is, he has had it since they left the Tower, barely noticeable until now. A sound behind him causes him to rip his dagger from his sheath and turn rapidly around. All he can see, careening towards him in the predawn light, is a flash of sleek black, scales and teeth, before something else smacks into his right side, knocking his backwards to tumble through the gore into the burrow. Not stopping to think what kind of horror now covers his clothes, he jumps up immediately, shaking his head to clear his vision and remove the dirt from his face.

"Mike! Get out here, now," he yells into the darkness behind him. He moves to the lip of the burrow and turns quickly to survey the scene around him. Two possible assailants – one definitely reptilian, with a few possible modifications, one unknown. And one of these unknown entities is completely blocking the Skill. Kurt returns his dagger to its sheath and arms himself with his bow instead, notching and aiming his arrow in an instant. In a confrontation where he has no access to his Skill, combat at close quarters is not his strong point.

He hears the sound of footsteps behind him and quickly turns to face them, fingers itching to release the arrow. Mike runs up beside him, pupils widening at the sight of Kurt armed and ready to fire. "What the hell's going on, Kurt?" he asks, panting slightly. Kurt keeps his eyes trained on the landscape around them, moving his bow to aim at different points as he scans for any sign of movement. "I was attacked. Two creatures – one is definitely reptilian, the other knocked me back into the burrow. I couldn't see where they went." Kurt's eyes continue to dart around him, looking mildly panicked.

He chances a quick look at his friend, fixing their eyes together for an instant. "It's blocking the Skill, Mike. Something's stopping me from reaching it – I don't know how…but it is." Mike looks at him with disbelief etched across his features. Wrinkling his brow in concentration he looks down at his hands, evidently willing them to do something to prove his Skill. Nothing happens. Frowning with concern, Mike brings his sword up to guard position and turns around, backing away from the burrow. Kurt follows, still facing forward. Both continue to glance about them furtively, waiting for their attackers to return.

They don't have to wait very long. At a cry from Mike, Kurt swivels around to face the building behind him. Crouching on the roof, its sleek, black tail draped over the edge to twitch menacingly along the wall, is an enormous black lizard. It has long, sabre-like teeth that protrude below the line of its lower jaw, and its red, piercing eyes are staring directly at Kurt. He can feel sickly, dense waves emanating from its body, chasing the Skill from his heart and mind. It flicks its red, wet tongue out between its teeth and tilts its head in an almost human expression – daring them to try and do to it what they have done to the carcass behind them. Kurt can feel its desire, its need for him…and for Mike. He suddenly knows that it wants them – wants them not for their flesh, but from what runs through them – it wants their Skill.

It tilts its head again, watching, waiting for them to act. Kurt has had just about enough of this – he wants to wipe that smug expression of its stupid lizard face. With a barely perceptible movement of his fingers, he moves to let his arrow fly…only to find that he can't. The thickness around them has extended to their bodies as well – he cannot move. With another flick of its tongue the lizard begins to stalk slowly down the wall of the building, step after agonising step. Kurt can feel his heart hammering within the body he no longer has any control over, and wills himself to move, to use the Skill, to do anything. The lizard has reached the ground now and it continues its swaggering step towards them. The air changes in response, Kurt can almost feel its glee in the rapidly cloying atmosphere.

The lizard is just metres away now – Kurt can see its eyes, pupils widened with desire, fixed on his. His heart beats faster, and he feels something begin to draw away from him – the Skill is slipping from his body – the lizard is consuming him. So this is what it will do, suck away his power like marrow from a bone, and then kill the husk of flesh remaining. He wants to close his eyes – to be given a minor escape from the nightmare of his end. Let it be fast and clean. Let it be over soon. The pull from the lizard intensifies as it creeps closer and closer until it stands in front of him, raising its head to look into his eyes, just inches from his face. Kurt knows he is about to die. This red-eyed hell is the last thing he will see…

A sharp thud rents the air, followed by a high-pitched shriek from the lizard as it wrenches its eyes from Kurt to turn to face something away to the right. Kurt suddenly feels the density lift away from him, feels the Skill returning, trickling down his limbs…he will not waste this opportunity. Beside him, he hears Mike moving as well – they take their chance. Kurt pushes off from the ground, rocketing into the sky, whilst Mike leaps towards the lizard, using the Skill to enhance his lift. As Mike slams his sword through the lizard's tail, Kurt sends forth a volley of arrows – every single one hits their mark.

Kurt lands softly beside Mike as he wrenches his sword free, looking at it in disgust as he wipes it on his pants. A whine from the lizard in front of them draws their attention. Mike sighs softly before stepping forward to dispatch it in the same way as the creature before it.

Suddenly, both boys are knocked from their feet by the wave that bursts from the lizard as it dies, landing painfully several feet away. Kurt slams his fist into the ground from where he lies on his back, "I've had just about enough of being knocked to the ground today." He rubs the back of his head as he sits up, looking around for Mike. When he sees his friend is safe and sound, albeit a little sore around the edges, he pushes himself up and limps towards the lizard's remains. He looks down upon it - their almost-doom doesn't seem so formidable in death…nothing ever does. "All that Skill," he hears Mike say softly behind him, "I wonder where it came from." Kurt shakes his head, "I honestly don't want to think about it."

A sharp, snapping sound to their right causes both boys to look up, weapons raised. Kurt realises that they have forgotten the second attacker – the one that pushed him down into the burrow. Far from a vision from a nightmare, Kurt gasps in shock at the sight before them. A boy peers around the corner of the building, clearly frozen in terror before their weapons. Kurt abruptly lowers his bow – this was who pushed him into the hole, the source of the noise that distracted the lizard. This boy, he…he saved their lives. "We won't hurt you," Kurt hears himself call out. The boy raises his brows in surprise. "Please," Kurt is shocked by the soft, almost pleading tone in his own voice, "we would have died without you. We wish you no harm." The boy looks down, as if pondering what to do. He then looks up, shoulders squared, and moves out from behind the building, walking slowly towards them. He is shorter than Kurt or Mike, but about the same age, Kurt guesses. His clothes are worn and dirty, ripped in places – nothing covers his bare feet, bar a grim layer of dirt. He has dark curly hair which spreads out widely over his head, hanging down into his eyes. His eyes…

The boy is but a metre from them now and Kurt can see the fear shining thickly in his eyes. But he sees something else – shock, fascination, admiration – mixed into the bright, hazel hues. The boy stops in front of him and swallows, clearing his throat to say something...when another crack echoes from behind the corner he has just emerged from – some falling masonry from the wreck of the building. Before anyone can react, the boy runs past them at full tilt, ducking through holes in the fences and out of sight towards the forest at the edge of their vision. Mike and Kurt look at each other in disbelief. Kurt starts at the odd sound to his voice as he finally manages to croak out, "What the hell just happed?"

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it – let me know what you think!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So now we get to have a little glimpse of how the other side lives!

**Warnings:** Blaine has a lot of feelings – and not all of them are particularly happy.

Thanks to those how alerted and favourited once again! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Glee is (unfortunately) owned by somebody else.

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><p>Suddenly there is nothing but escape, the view of the earth racing beneath him and the steady thrumming of feet against ground. Blaine is running for his life.<p>

He ducks beneath fences, skirts around cars, hurdling anything that isn't worth running around. He pays no head to any possible threat, the fear of the creatures that live amongst the ruin momentarily stilled in his desperate rush to escape from this place, from himself…from Him…

Blaine barely notices as buildings begin to give way to stunted bushes, which in turn give way to the muted beginnings of the forest. Vines consume cars like pythons, and trees thrust through already falling walls. As his feet continue to pound the earth, the chaos behind him begins to fade away. He doesn't slow his pace until his bounding pulse threatens to block out all other noises and the edges of his vision begin to blur, creating a world of spinning green and undulating brown. He comes to a halt, hands on knees, his breath ragged and coarse.

He has hardly begun to breathe normally again before the images of the morning's confrontation once again begin to intrude across his mind. The beasts, the sorcerers…what he has done…

Stumbling towards a clump of bushes Blaine feels the acid tang begin to build in his throat, and promptly empties his stomach – over and over again. When he is finally spent, a sheen of sweat across his body causing him to shiver in the morning air, he slumps to the ground and crawls over to rest his back against a tree. He curls his knees towards him, hugging them close, and lays his brow to rest upon them, trying to still his mind and forget his terror for this moment at least. After a few minutes of calming breaths he begins to feel better – his pulse begins to slow and he feels the rest of his body return to normal.

What happened to him this morning? What madness drove him into that city? Blaine tries to remember the events that led him on this path to near-end and finds himself grasping at nothing.

He remembers waking early, whilst it was still dark, and feeling a sense of purpose. For the first time in a long while he had awoken without the immediate desire to return his head beneath the covers and push the future away. He had woken with an idea – a chance to show his affection to one who loved him dearly and a chance to prove to himself that fear was no longer his master. The next day would be Nick's birthday and Blaine wanted to paint him something spectacular. But somehow the dull wooden plaques and stone tablets he usually used as a canvas seemed lacking – he wanted to find something special…something only the once-city could offer.

So somehow Blaine had found himself wandering through his own personal hell, in the dark, wondering all the time what he could possibly be doing. So many times he had made to turn back, but something had pushed him onwards – some desperate part of him wanted to see it through. He had been so careful at first, gripping his tiny knife like his only salvation, and running from every sound or shift in light. It was only as the sky began to lighten, revealing more of the once-city around him, that he felt a small flash of bravery spark within. He was doing this for Nick – to prove to his friend that he was the person he used to be.

Blaine wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he knew it when he saw it – a soft glint, reflecting light from the first morning sun. Most of the cars in the ruins were burnt, rusted shells with hardly an intact piece of metal amongst their decomposition. But this car had one remaining hub cap, which shone and beckoned to him. Taking in a deep breath Blaine had gingerly picked his way through the remains of a wire fence and into the shadow of a huge, windowless building. So consumed by the prize in front of him, so elated by his discovery, he didn't take the time to look around him – to see the things that shouldn't be missed. How could he have been so stupid.

Blaine drops his head back onto his knees in frustration at the memory. He could have been killed - he would have been killed, if it hadn't been for…

The hub cap was barely damaged – a little bent around the edges and slightly rusted, it had been mostly preserved from the ravages of time and decay by a bank of dirt. Blaine used his hands to scrape away most of it, revealing a perfect surface for painting, with a little bit of work. He had used the tip of his knife, mostly blunt anyway, to pry the thing away from the wheel mechanism with surprising ease. He held it gently in his hands as he began to imagine the form of his work. It would be special – Nick would love it, he would forgive him for…

The sound of footsteps had jolted him back to his reality – he could see two figures, dressed all in black, stalking towards the building. Quickly he had dropped behind the remains of the car, clutching the hub cap to his chest in an attempt to silence his bounding heart. He could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat, the panic threatening to constrict his throat. Sorcerers from the Black Tower - the masters of everything evil in this mess of a world. What if they had seen him? What would they do? Oh God, oh God! He was going to die…he was going to…

And then he heard it, the low rumble of something most definitely not human. If it was even possible to do so, Blaine felt his heart beat faster, threatening to tear through his chest in its bid to escape. He had scrunched his eyes tight, trying to shut out the madness. He was going to die – be ripped to pieces by a sorcerer-controlled beast.

A full throated roar sounded from behind him, followed by sounds of…some sort of battle? It took him several seconds of controlled breathing to summon the courage to look out from behind the car. He almost darted right back again at the sight before him – the sorcerers were fighting the creature. Why would they want to fight something of their own design and control? Blaine was confused and terrified – he wanted to run from there as fast as he could…but he could not bring any part of himself to move. He cried out softly as one of the sorcerers was knocked to ground by the beast, and he could not bring himself to tear his eyes away as the beast stalked towards him…him, not 'it' – the look in his eyes seemed too human as the thing approached, muzzle widened in a grotesque grin of pleasure…Blaine slammed his eyes shut – he could not watch this…

Only to open them again at the beast's roar of frustration – the man, or boy – he looked so young – was unharmed. Blaine watched, pulse slowing slightly, as the young sorcerer pushed himself to his feet and drew his weapon, lighting it on fire. The rest of the battle was over quickly, and soon Blaine had found himself staring open-mouthed at the enormous corpse of the beast. The sorcerers continued to move towards the building, and Blaine decided to take his chance to escape – human-looking or not, these men could kill him with a glance, and something within seemed to be telling him to try and stay alive.

Still clutching his hub cap, he was about to make his exit when he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye. A sleek, black shape was approaching the fence from the streets beyond, moving fast towards the two sorcerers, who were still staring intently at a hole burrowed beneath the building. Blaine was torn with indecision – he was terrified of all three forms, but two looked human – two had just slaughtered one of the beasts that stalked the lives of the people he loved. He cannot watch anyone die…not again…

Blaine could see no alternative. If he shouted a warning he would bring attention from both parties to himself. He looked back to the sorcerers…or sorcerer now. Only one was standing at the edge of the hole – the young-looking one, so nearly slaughtered not minutes earlier. The black shape was coming faster now, its tail undulating from side to side as it crossed the uneven ground easily. And so Blaine made his choice – he did what he always does…he ran…

Wrenched back to the present by the horror of that decision, Blaine can feel tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, pooling in his eyelids to spill down to wet the knees of his trousers. He still has no idea what really made him do what he did, made him run out into the path of death to knock the boy-sorcerer into the hole – only that, in that moment, Blaine had not wanted him to die.

The next thing he remembers is crouching behind the corner of the building, shaking uncontrollably. He could not bring himself to move – could not force himself to see what had followed him. At any moment he expected to see that black face peering around the corner – tongue flicking out to taste his fear. But there was nothing, only silence. Trying to control his breathing, Blaine closed his eyes, stealing himself for what he knew he must do. As the last vestiges of courage were deserting him, he thrust his head around the corner to face his doom.

The sight that met his eyes chilled him to the bone. The lizard was on the ground, mere metres from the sorcerers, who seemed frozen in position, completely unmoving. In seconds it would have been upon them – grasping, ripping, devouring. He had felt it again – the sudden compulsion to do something – to save somebody, even as cowardly as he is. Mind grasping for ideas Blaine suddenly felt it, still clutched to his chest – the reason for all his misadventure this day. Without a second to think of the consequences he hurled it as fast as he could towards the lizard.

He didn't know how long he waited for death that time. He cannot remember the thoughts that crashed through his mind as he stilled himself for the inevitable – for the end that never came. A high pitched shriek had forced him, against his better judgement, to look at the scene again, only to be just in time to see the taller sorcerer deal the final blow. It was over – and Blaine was still alive. It was with this thought in mind, in a joy of survival-induced stupor, that Blaine took a step forward, cracking a piece of wood beneath his foot – drawing the eyes of the sorcerers directly towards him.

Looking back, safely curled within the embrace of the woods, it is the eyes Blaine remembers. When he tries to think of a single reason why he would abandon all thought of safety to advance towards them, all he can think of is the pull of those eyes – piercing cobalt blue, with flashes of light and dark moving together. They spoke of something infinitely better than mere safety and assurance – of life without fear…of comfort, and…

Then he remembers running. Then he remembers retching. Now all he can think of is home, and Nick…he has to find Nick.

Something about all of this does not sit with what Ari and Nick have told him…have told all of them. The sorcerers are supposed to control the beasts – they unleash their cruelty on the dwindling world of men to sate their thirst for destruction and death. But there they were, fighting, killing the arm with which they are supposed to wield their violence. The boy-sorcerer looked almost as scared as Blaine was, when he was about to meet his end. And the kind words, the eyes that spoke of something…more…

Blaine can no longer believe the sorcerers are the cause of this ruin. They are just like him – locked in a tower or hiding in the forest, it all amounts to the same thing – they are all at the mercy of this world of hell, tiny specs of dust tumbling through a turbulent sky.

Whatever Nick and Ari believe to be the truth, they must be made aware of what he has seen. And for that Blaine has to find Nick…if he can stop himself shaking…and then somehow get off the ground.

He takes a few calming breaths and attempts to gather himself in preparation for standing up, but before he can do anything more he hears the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps behind him. His nerves completely spent, Blaine jumps to his feet in a panic, turning around him to find the source of the noise. He backs away from the sound, scrambling desperately for his knife to use as a meagre weapon. He trips over a tree root as he does so, landing sprawled on his back in the dirt. All Blaine can do to protect himself is to curl into a ball, a spineless porcupine in the dirt – and he hates himself for it.

The footsteps slow as they come closer, softening to a whisper when he can feel the creature standing above him. Blaine is surprised as whatever it is chooses to sit down quietly beside him and decides to chance a look from between his fingers.

"Oh, Blaine," Nick says, and Blaine flinches at the mingling tones of love and pity in his voice.

Nick places a hand gently on Blaine's shoulder, pulling him upwards into a kneeling position, using his other hand to wipe the dirt and curls out of the shorter boy's face.

"Where have you been? I…I came to get you for breakfast, and you were gone. I thought you might have…" he pauses as Blaine's eyes drift away from him, looking over his shoulder towards the once-city "…gone," he finishes, his voice oddly flat.

Blaine cannot bring himself to look at Nick directly – he wants to see nothing of the parts of himself that he will see reflected back at him. He is scared, ashamed and confused. But he also has a purpose now, small as it may be.

"I went into the city," Blaine says, eyes still fixed over Nick's shoulder, "I saw…I saw…"

What did he see? Monsters, sorcerers, cobalt-blue eyes that spoke of hope…

But his thought remains unfinished at the hiss that escapes from Nick's mouth "You did what?" his voice is so quiet that Blaine can barely hear it, but he can feel his anger none the less. When Blaine still refuses to look at him, Nick uses his palm to softly turn his head so he can see Blaine's eyes. "You went into the once-city? With no one, with nothing but this…" he tosses Blaine's discarded knife into the bushes behind them "…to protect you? Why would you do such a reckless, stupid thing, Blaine? Are you trying to get killed? Is this about…her…? Do you want to die, Blaine? Are…are you trying to punish me?" He says this last part very quietly, a pleading look in his eyes.

Of course everything is about Nick – it always had been. Blaine isn't even allowed to grieve without Nick's involvement. He is so sick of this – sick of being a coward, sick of somehow forcing people to love him when he can't love them back, sick of living in this hole of a world, and sick of not being able to do anything about it.

He looks at Nick then – shoots his hazel eyes down to the depths of his soul. "I went to get something for you, Nick – something to prove to you what I can never prove to myself; that I'm worth something; that you mean something to me!" he tries to stop his voice rising in volume – he isn't angry, he isn't.

Nick gives him that pitying look again. "I know you did Blaine, I know. But all we have to do is get you back to where you were, to the person you were – then you'll feel better, I kn…"

"I can't go back, Nick!" Blaine can feel himself yelling now, but he feels strangely separate from it all, like he can see himself, but he can't do anything to stop what he's about to say. "You don't think I wish I could? To run around like I didn't have a care in the world; to kill the beasts that threaten us; to live and laugh and love…" he swallows softly and drops the volume of his voice "To have her back again…"

"Blaine…I…" Blaine lets Nick cup his face gently with his hand, lets him wipe away a tear with his thumb. "You know I love you, don't you? If you would just let me in…" Blaine stays silent, letting the tears fall softly. "You're hardly eating, I know you don't sleep, I bet you haven't even washed in days…you're slipping away from me. Please Blaine, please let me love you." He moves his hand to grasp under Blaine's chin, pulling him towards him slowly, so slowly…

"No! Get off me!" Blaine shuffles back from his touch and stands, feeling as if everything is about to burst inside. Nick pulls back his hand as abruptly as Blaine has moved away from him, the pain and shock evident on his face. But Blaine cannot stop himself, now that he has started, it has to come out.

"You don't…you don't understand. _She _loved me. She told me, on the day she died. She told me that she loved me, and I…I laughed at her Nick. She didn't know that I didn't…that I couldn't…And then she was gone. She went out that night because of me – because she wanted to lose herself in the dark, lose herself in the hunt so she wouldn't have to think of me. And she did." Blaine pulls his hands through his hair in frustration, hearing a small sob escape from between his lips.

Nick takes his opportunity to speak again "But this isn't the same thing, Blaine. Kay was different – I'm not a…"

"It _is_ the same, Nick. It's the same because you love me, and I _don't _love you. I'll never love you, so just…just…leave me the hell alone!"

And Blaine turns to finish what he started this day – running from everything that is his sickly, wreck of a life. He runs further and further into the depths of the forest, but nothing can help him escape from the image that continues to drift before his vision - cobalt-blue eyes. And he hates himself for that too.

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><p><strong>Poor Blaine. Hope you enjoyed this chapter – reviews always welcome – let me know what you think!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** And we're back with the boys again!

**Warnings:** Some unpleasant language – just when people are in high spirits though, I promise.

I still don't own Glee – weird, I know.

Please enjoy!

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><p>Kurt emerges from the shower room feeling almost like himself again. After the fifth scouring with soap and scalding water he is close to losing the stench of putrefaction that seems to have soaked through his pores to his very being. A towel wrapped around his waist, he approaches the wall-length mirror in the changing rooms (somehow scavenged from the ruins below) to survey the damage to his torso. He follows the stitches along their length, carefully placed by Mike just after they returned through the pseudo-wall to the safety of his rooms. They had barely beaten the sun; it floated completely above the horizon just behind them. A red, puckered gash along his left side, the wound extends from just below the apex of his scapula to the left of his navel, ghosting across most of the ribs in between. That will leave a lovely scar – perhaps it will make him look manlier…he doubts it.<p>

Kurt wrenches his hand away from the stiches before his does any more damage and begins to flex his torso gently in all directions, trying to detect the limitations imposed by his bruised and broken ribs. It hurts, but it isn't catastrophic. He automatically smooths the frown from his forehead, dreading its long term effects, and instead brings his face closer to the mirror; his eyes, shockingly blue, peer back at him intently.

Kurt sighs and looks away. He can remember a time when his eyes were a different colour; a time when the very sight of them didn't cause people to recoil in fear. At least he thinks he can remember – he is almost certain that the last time he ever saw himself, before the Tower, they were a light blue-grey, shot with flecks of green. That night he and his father watched fire rain from the sky, safely sheltered within an enormous skyscraper - before he banished himself from comfort, without knowing how. He is certain the eyes that were reflected in the window before him were light and normal…not this…

He forces himself to look back into those bright rings – he is almost scared of himself. Kurt wonders what he has become.

At the sound of footsteps in the hall he walks over the bench where he has laid out his fresh clothes; the ones he was wearing last night were artfully incinerated by Mike, at his insistence. He pulls his tunic over his head just he hears a sharp intake of breath behind him.

"Gah! It looks even worse when you're clean – there's no mixed coverage of decomposing flesh and monster blood to hide the contrast."

Kurt gives his friend a grim smile, "Gee, thanks Mike – you always know how to make a guy feel better. Now turn around so I can put my pants on." Mike gives him a sly wink, "Nothing I haven't seen before, sweet cheeks." Kurt looks at him incredulously, one eyebrow raised.

"What? That was my attempt at bonding. I was joking ok…Kurt…Kurt stop looking at me like that. Jesus - I take it back ok? Note to self; no jokes revolving around the small and highly unlikely chance that I have ever seen you without your clothes on." Mike looks highly flustered at this point, his hand grasping the back of his neck, feet absently kicking at the floor.

Kurt belts his trousers with a final flourish, grinning, "In your dreams, hot stuff!"

"Ah fine. It's settled – I am terrible at attempted bonding based around sexual innuendo, and you are a horrible tease. Let's go – Will's looking for you."

Kurt looks up sharply from buckling his boots to stare at Mike intently. "Which Will?" Mike laughs softly, "What do you mean which Will? Head of training, the Principle's deputy. Which other Will could possibly ask to see you and command enough authority that I would actually listen to them and convey their message, rather than producing my finely-tuned menacing glare and some well-timed glowy-glowy, sending them pelting feet first in the opposite direction…preferably into some form of solid structure."

Hands on hips Kurt sighs and looks over Mike's shoulder to the mirror behind him, "I've been afraid this might happen."

Mike follows his gaze to meet Kurt's eyes in the mirror "What?" and then a little more sharply when no response seems forthcoming "What, Kurt? What are you afraid of?"

Kurt starts suddenly, as if ripped from some form of waking reverie. "I think," he starts slowly, "that the Principle may want more from me and my…services than he is currently able to entertain."

The look on Mike's face reflected back to him is enough to force Kurt's gaze back to his friend, "Wait, Mike - what do you think I mean?"

Mike gapes at him for a moment longer, then shakes his head in an attempt at composition "I mean, what you do in your own time is completely your business Kurt, but I don't think anyone even…even - and may they throw me from the walls for saying this - even the Principle, has any right to force you to do anything you don't want to do!" Kurt is looking at him strangely, head cocked to one side, one eyebrow raised. "Especially…especially when it's of a personal nature." Mike finishes in a rush of words and breath.

Kurt continues to look at him intently for a few seconds before promptly collapsing into hysterics. Mike shifts uncomfortably on his feet, waiting for Kurt to compose himself. When Kurt finally raises his head, the look on Mike's face is almost enough to start him off again.

But he pulls himself together, walking towards Mike to place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry Mike, that was immature – but I just couldn't help myself. The look…on your face…when…" he is shaking to suppress his laughter now, "Sorry, I'm sorry. No, Mike, the Principle is not asking 'personal' favours of me, as you so delicately put it. I'm afraid it's rather more serious than that. I think he wants me to Skill personally for him – to be his tutor and his friend in all the dark places of the Tower – his enforcer if you will." Kurt lets his hand drop from his friend's shoulder, beginning to pull it through his hair before he remembers it has just been styled and slaps it down to his side.

Mike furrows his brow in concern, looking away for an instant to compose his thoughts, "It certainly makes sense – you are the most powerfully Skilled person in this hell-hole. The Principle talks a good talk, but he can't Skill for shit. Why now though? What has changed that he needs you as his pet magician and hall monitor?"

"I don't know, but Will has been hinting at it for months now." Kurt walks towards the mirror again, gently placing his hands against the glass and leaning forward to rest his forehead against its cool surface. "But I think something is changing – I can feel it. At least I know _I_ am," he says quietly, his breath fogging the glass in small swirls and eddies.

He turns to rest his back against the mirror, his eyes downturned and his voice barely audible, "We need to talk about the boy we saw this morning, Mike. Did you know there were people out there – living within _that_?"

Mike turns away from him to walk over and sit on the bench against the opposite wall, leaning forward to speak to the floor, "Lydia did. She tried to tell me that she had seen people…out amongst the ruins. I didn't believe her – I thought she just wanted me to come with her…God, we were such cowards, staying here in our blackened cage!"

Kurt flinches at his inclusion in this damnation, but allows his friend this wound – he has enough of his own. Kurt shakes his head almost imperceptibly, "We were just kids Mike - we still are."

Mike looks up at him with a jerking motion of his head, "No child should have to see what we have seen, Kurt; no child should have to do what we have done again, and again…Sometimes I feel just as much of a monster as those things out there – we're all just victims of this…" he gestures out the door, towards the walls of the Tower and out into a world tainted, "…whatever the hell happened ten years ago: nuclear bombs, chemical warfare, genetic manipulation. Who the fuck knows what we are, how we became this way? I sure as hell don't…" Mike stands from the bench and walks towards Kurt, still pressed against the mirror, until he stops, mere inches from his face "…but I'm damn sure I want to do something about it."

Kurt swallows thickly and nods, "So do I." He tries not to flinch at the look of shock that briefly crosses his friend's face. "There are people outside, living through God knows what every day, and we sit here practicing the Skill. For what purpose? The Principle talks a great deal about the day that we are going to build this world anew; when we will raise the human race back above the darkness that has covered it – but when will that moment come? Not any time soon – not until he has wrung every last drop of power and influence out the Tower and everyone within," Kurt turns his head away from the intent gaze of his friend, spitting the words out as though they are a bitter taste in his mouth.

"We can do something Kurt – you're the best they have, and I'm damn close. We could leave – tonight! Find the outsiders, find some way to help them…"

"With what Mike?" Kurt says softly, "We don't even know what's going on. Who are they – they could be hostile – they could be modified." Mike looks at him doubtfully, "We need information. We need a plan before we skip town – eloping into the night."

Mike grins delightedly at this, "But we will leave, right? We will do something – and soon?"

"Yes, Mike. I think for the first time, we're actually going to _do_ something."

"Tonight?" Mike looks hopeful, a scheming glint in his eye. "I just said…" Mike shakes his head, "No, I mean, can we start the information gathering tonight? It looks like its going to be a beautiful night." Kurt sighs, a small smile playing at his lips, "We're inside, surrounded by several thousand tonnes of metal and we haven't been outside since sunrise – you have no idea what the night will bring. But yes – we can start tonight!"

Mike places his hand behind Kurt's head, bringing their foreheads to touch together in a formal display of brotherhood. He steps back from the mirror, a new, optimistic grin splayed across his face.

"I'll see you later then, Kurt." he says as he jogs out of the bathroom, "Oh," he pauses at the door, grin spreading even wider, "by the way, other Will, you know him right? The guy that organises the kitchen roster – he was looking for you as well." Kurt cannot keep himself from smiling. "How long is it since you've done kitchen duty anyway Kurt?" Mike asks, eyebrows raised in mock gravity.

"Let me see…how long have I been here?" Kurt ponders, dramatically pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger. "I would say…about seven years," Mike answers. "Well then, that would mean I haven't done kitchen duty in…seven years."

Mike chuckles, turning to continue his retreat, "Well if you don't plan to start now I would find somewhere to hide."

"I plan to," Kurt says quietly to the mirror.

* * *

><p>Tiny black shapes tossed together, like grains scattered across the face of the world; even ruin and chaos has its beauty when viewed from afar. Kurt hovers delicately above a dark grey ledge, itself jutting out oddly from the external shell of the Tower. This is where he comes to think and escape from the cacophony within.<p>

Somehow the view below is calming, despite the horrors it holds. Or at least it used to be calming, before this morning. Kurt cannot stop thinking about the boy in the ruins, and what he represents. All he can see now when he closes his eyes is small, curly-haired boys racing through the once-city, pursued by every variation of modified creature he has ever encountered. He always opens his eyes before the end though; he cannot bear to watch the boy's terrified hazel eyes widen as he is ripped to pieces – even if it is only in his imagination.

The calming presence of his elevation is also somewhat muted by the presence of a hooded figure, lingering somewhere behind him. Kurt sighs and unfolds himself from his position, manoeuvring his body so he turns and floats back to touch down on the ledge. Once on solid ground again he drops to his knees, drawing his face towards the ledge and pressing his lips to the cool metal.

"I didn't realise you were religious, Kurt." a flat, cold voice intones from within the dark hood.

Kurt stands and smooths out his trousers, brushing his hands across his knees to clear them of dirt. "I'm not," his voice is hard, his eyes darkening. "I was merely thankful I returned to the Tower safely – one look at you is enough to knock a person from the sky. It isn't considered polite to intrude upon someone who is Skilled whilst they are meditating."

"I _am _Skilled, Kurt," the dark figure spits, his voice dripping with hatred.

Kurt looks at him, tilting his head, as though appraising a small insect. A small smile cracks across his face, "Hardly."

Kurt raises his hand to catch the fireball launched towards his face, twirling it between his fingers and bringing it in close to examine it.

"Sloppy, sloppy work, Will. I mean look…" he brings up his other hand to cup the ball between them, and then curls his fingers and drags his hands apart, watching the fire spread, crack and finally extinguish, "…it's just falling apart."

Will pulls his hood back from his face and snakes out his hand from beneath his robe to grab Kurt's forearm, pulling him forwards so they are flush together. Closing his eyes, Kurt can feel hot breath, scalding against his face; he can taste his anger, and his fear.

"Listen to me you little shit. I know difference between the person everyone thinks you are and the maggot inside; consuming your way through this place that we have worked so hard to build. If you try anything, I promise you, I will end you."

Kurt opens his eyes, the passion inside him igniting his irises so that they blaze brighter than they ever have. Will stumbles backwards, releasing his grip in his rush to escape. Kurt can see nothing but fear and hatred before him.

"I would love to see you try Will. Get out of my sight."

Will composes himself after a few moments, banishing the fear from his face and fixing the hatred in place. He sweeps the hood back over his head and turns to go.

"Oh, and Will," Kurt calls softly from behind him, "the thing about maggots – they only eat flesh that is already dead."

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><p><strong>Games are afoot! Snaps to anyone who can guess who 'The Principle' is!<strong>

**Oh, and just so you know, our favourite twosome will definitely meet again…very soon, I promise.**

**Hope you liked it – would love to know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** And everyone is all together – well in text, if not in person!

**Warnings:** Violence, accompanied by appropriately unpleasant language.

Still don't own glee…sigh.

Thanks for the reads, alerts, reviews etc. - I really hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p>Blaine wakes to the chattering sound of the avian call to sleep. Casting off his covers, he pulls himself upright and crawls to the opening of his tent, pulling back the flap to see outside. Against the rapidly darkening sky he can see the colony of mynah birds flitting noisily through the trees adjacent to their campsite. As annoying as they can be, he finds their presence calming – their noisy ramblings act as a perfect offset to the reality of this world; even in its death throws, the Earth continues to sustain life. They are also nice enough to eat…if you're desperate.<p>

Blaine crawls completely out of his tent to stand outside and stretch his aching muscles. He has slept all day. He hadn't realised how much yesterday had worn him out, but he can feel it now – in his aching thighs and calves, in his swollen feet and in the waves of pain crashing against his temples. Blaine rubs his eyes dreamily and peers out into the darkening campsite – it is almost deserted, people are going about their business elsewhere. Blaine tries not to think too much about what they might be doing.

As is only natural for him, Blaine feels torn with guilt for how he acted the day before. When his words flow back across his mind and the images of Nick's face come up unbidden across his vision, he can only jerk his head to the side – trying to rid his head of his remorse. He wants to find Nick and apologise, but a little voice inside his head continues to whisper that he would never have changed his words. But perhaps he can change the way he says them.

Sighing softly, Blaine turns and begins to walk in the direction of Nick's tent, all the while completely ignoring the other little voice, annoying and petulant, telling him to run in the opposite direction.

As he nears the western side of the campsite, a raven-haired woman with an offputtingly muscular build suddenly blocks his path. She stares at him intently, barely concealed disgust and disappointment shifting across the features of her face.

"He's not here, Blaine. I don't know where he went."

Blaine sighs again with resignation, looking at the ground, unable to meet her eyes "I'm sorry Ariadne. I…I…don't know what came over me."

She looks him with surprise, "You told him that you don't love him, didn't you?"

Blaine starts and looks up to meet her eyes, "Wha…how did you…"

"You look lighter somehow, like you're carrying one less burden. Well little Blaine, I think this is the first day you've ever really impressed me," she brushes a stray piece of lank hair behind her ear without really noticing, suddenly drawing Blaine's attention to his own, filthy appearance. His eyes rake across his tunic and leggings, spotted and smeared with several weeks' worth of interaction with the world. He tries to pull his fingers through the curls hanging in front of his eyes - visibly recoiling when he can barely move them.

Ari smiles, the action almost softening the hard glaze over her eyes, "Yes, your appearance does leave something to be desired at the moment. Why don't you go clean up and then join me for dinner – I'm sure Nick will be back soon." She smooths her hands across her own worn and blemished tunic and turns to go, before pausing and turning back to face him, "And Blaine," she lays a hand on his shoulder timidly, as though he might run from her touch, "I think you did the right thing, with Nick. No one should have to stand idly by and watch someone they love start to hate them, little by little, when they have no idea why." She lets her hand fall from his shoulder and leaves him standing alone in the campsite, unsure whether he feels better or not.

* * *

><p>Kurt can see his breath condensing into wispy clouds in the air before him. He shifts awkwardly in his crouch, trying to restore some vitality to his aching muscles. Pure darkness has settled over the landscape – the last vestiges of sunlight fleeing from the sky only moments ago. Above him, a matte covering of cloud blocks out any traces of invading starlight – the night is black, cold and unwelcoming. To make matters worse, Kurt can feel a heaviness in the air – meteorological, not magical this time – heralding an approaching rainstorm. He wishes they hadn't decided to start doing something on <em>this<em> night.

A soft scratching sound of boot on metal and brick announces Mike's stealthy descent down the wall. When Kurt hears him jump lightly down to join him in the dirt, he turns to look at his friend, "What took so long?" Mike shakes his head gently, "I'm sorry Kurt – I got stuck half-way down – Ashley and Justin were having a domestic dispute during their rounds." Kurt shakes his head in mock irritation, "Tut, tut. How very unprofessional – I should report them. Except…"

"Except you have no idea who they are and don't really care?"

"Exactly. Let's get this party started – lead on, dear friend," Kurt gestures towards the ruins before them, and after looking up to check whether their opening is indeed clear, follows his friend carefully into the night.

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><p>Cool water lapping gently against his ankles, Blaine steps out of a deep, clear pool, sweeping the water from his curls as he does so. Formed by a great rent in the bank, the swift-flowing river has been redirected into the pool, causing the water to swirl in distress and then calm, stilling finally in the centre to form a perfect place for bathing.<p>

This is Blaine's place – he had spent most of the previous day here, trying to hide himself from the world. He watched the air about him for hours, until the sun had crept below the horizon and forced him to his tent in fear. Something about the way the pool interrupted the flow of the river seemed to have an affect on the air about it; some force seemed to hold the tiny wandering particles in the air in place, glittering in the sun – and Blaine liked nothing more than to sit and watch them dance.

Blaine pulls his towel from where it hangs on a tree and proceeds to dry himself. With every swipe of the material he feels something heavy falling away; this was a good idea – he feels more like himself than he has in weeks. He pulls on his fresh clothes and shakes his head wildly, trying to rid his hair of some of its excess moisture. He almost laughs aloud at the feel of the wet curls as they tickle his face, until he remembers that he can't laugh, and stops himself. With that thought back in place Blaine realises he has to find Nick – he has to explain himself before he ruins their friendship forever.

He sighs and begins to gather his things, throwing one last look at the pool and the dancing dust in the air, only just visible in the last rays of sunlight.

* * *

><p>Kurt can feel the atmosphere cooling rapidly around them; he can smell the acid tang of rain in the air. "This is possibly the worst idea we've ever had," he says to Mike as they jog through the once-city. Mike merely raises an eyebrow in response, his short breaths fogging the air about him as he runs. "Yes," Kurt breathes, trying to concentrate on running rather than the impending rainstorm, "you're right – there is extremely stiff competition."<p>

They have almost reached the site of their battle the previous day. As they turn down the small side street, Kurt can smell that they are heading in the right direction. When they reach the factory fence the boys can see the stinking corpses of their conquests still (mostly) lying where they fell; the city's other inhabitants have made some effort to clear the area of the freely-provided meal. Kurt wrinkles his nose in disgust and moves quickly past the scene, following the edge of the fence in the direction the boy had fled – towards the distant forest. He hears Mike draw his weapon behind him and does the same, twirling his dagger in the air in repetitive, calming arcs.

As they continue to move away from the now-festering factory building, the forest begins to make its claim on the landscape. Kurt finds himself picking his way around bushes and small, spindly trees rather than cars and the discarded components of civilisation. The trees begin to get larger, the traces of man smaller. Kurt starts at the first rumble of thunder – still soft, but a warning promise of the menace to come. He looks across at Mike, who grins back at him, completely unfazed. Kurt scowls, "I hate getting wet – it makes my hair…limp." Mike attempts to disguise his snort of delight as a cough. Kurt glares at him, eyes darkening.

"Come on Kurt, eyes open, weapons up – I'm sure there are more horrifying things out here than your limp hair…maybe."

"I hate you."

"No you don't – you love me." Mike chuckles again at the sound of Kurt's snarl as the first drops begin to fall. "At least we're under cover now," he says, gesturing to the now extensive cover of foliage above their heads. Kurt feels it is best to stay silent at this point. Mike smiles into the darkness.

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><p>His head down to study the leaves as he pushes through them with his feet, humming softly to himself as he walks, Blaine almost runs straight into Nick, standing at the edge of the campsite. Blaine swallows thickly at the look in his friend's eyes; pained love, loss and desperation pass across them in a flash, to be replaced with a resigned sort of sadness.<p>

"Nick…I'm so sorry."

Nick looks away and down, nodding slowly to the ground, "Let's go for a walk, Blaine."

Blaine gasps softly, his eyes flitting from side to side in indecision. He can feel his fingers shifting and twining together, the hit of adrenaline leaving a sour taste in his mouth and a film of sweat on his brow, "But it's almost dark Nick. I'm not sure I…" He stops dead at the flat look on his friend's face – this is it, his last chance. If he refuses to take it he will lose Nick forever. "No, no it's fine…I'm fine. I'm sorry," he says quickly, his eyes searching Nick's face for some sense of his emotions.

"You're always sorry these days Blaine," he says sharply, then, features softening at the look on Blaine's face, "It won't be that bad – I'll protect you, I promise. Come on – we won't be long."

Blaine nods and walks to his side, following him as he turns to his left, heading down towards the river. As they walk silently through the trees, the first groan of thunder heralds the coming storm. Blaine tries not to flinch as the first, freezing drops meet his bare skin.

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><p>Mike comes to a halt, forcing Kurt to pull up beside him. They have been forcing their way through the forest in no particular direction, hoping to stumble across some sign of humanity. In this part of the forest, a road runs through the trees – puckered and crumbling with time and wear. They have been following it for several miles, hoping it might lead them to signs of a settlement. As the come to a stop, they can hear the soft flow of water, made louder by the steady stream of falling rain, and, snaking above the river, the remains of a bridge.<p>

It extends only partially across the expanse of water before ending in decaying concrete and steel rods, extending like bones into the free air.

"Well, a broken bridge poses no obstacle to us, but it makes it less likely that any un-Skilled person would use this as a pathway," Mike says, nodding towards the broken road.

"Hmmm…" Kurt smooths his hand over his soaking hair in irritation, trying to sweep some of the water away so it will stop dripping down his face and into his eyes. It isn't working. Kurt growls in frustration, narrowing his eyes, and suddenly Mike feels a burst of scalding water grate against his skin as it explodes from Kurt in a flourish. Kurt stands, smiling giddily, completely dry; his hair, adorably fluffy, stands straight on end. Mike doesn't even attempt to disguise his snort this time.

"What?" Kurt asks, brows furrowed, as his moves his hand across his scalp to feel the damage. He sighs dramatically as he runs his fingers through the ruin, trying to tame his hair into something more presentable, only pausing to interrupt Mike's giggling fit by ridding him of his water with unnecessary relish.

It takes some time for Mike to calm down enough to even consider where they should head to next. Now he is breathing very slowly, trying not to think of anything funny, whilst Kurt tries to look stern and not let the threatening smile creep to the surface of his face. He looks away from his friend towards the bridge in an attempt to distract himself, and as he does so the last traces of laughter are immediately driven from his throat. He feels something moving in the air; it feels exactly like the pressure that would be exerted by a pair of wings unfurling and flapping once against the air.

When he sees the creatures rise up from beneath the bridge to perch on the steel extending from its broken tip, he realises that this little excursion was beyond a bad idea. Black wings, now tucked to the creature's sides, had extended, bat-like, for at least six feet, and each was tipped with a sharply-taloned claw. Even their bodies are bat-like, but black and hairless, each equipped with a pair of claws as formidable as those at the end of their wings. But it is the heads that Kurt is drawn to, for, as black and weathered as they are, they are distinctly human – modified with the edition of sharp, black beaks.

"I'm getting a little sick of this day, Mike," Kurt sighs, waiting for the laughter to die in his friend's throat as he turns around to face the sight before them.

"Ugh – they are not pretty," Mike shudders in the rain as one of the creatures snaps its beak at his movement.

"Which one do you want – right or left," Kurt asks tiredly. Mike considers his options carefully, tilting his head to the side, "Hmmm…the one on the right I think – it looks smaller." He continues to gaze at his selected creature for a moment before turning to grin at Kurt brightly, "I'm going to call him Jerry! I know we'll have lots of fun together." Kurt frowns at his friend, "I'm pretty sure they're female, Mike," he says, gesturing towards the rows of bloated teats running down their ventral chest. Mike nods, "Fine – Geri then, with a 'G'."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Let's make it quick shall we?" Mike grins at him again, his eyes shining through the rain, "The only way to do it."

With a quick nod, both charge towards their chosen creature, weapons raised, ready to strike…when suddenly there is nothing to strike at. Both creatures take to the air with an angry screech, buffeting the boys below with their wings in their haste to escape.

Kurt slides to a halt, narrowly stopping himself from falling over the edge of the bridge. Mike pulls up beside him, his eyes trained on the sky, "Well that was anti-climactic."

Kurt shakes his head in disbelief – nothing is ever this easy. He is just considering whether or not he should turn around and do something about the fleeing creatures when Mike rockets away from him, sword flung from his grasp, and slams into the edge of the other side of the bridge, part of the steel structure punching through his thigh.

All Kurt can see through the gloom is a thin blur of jet black wings before he is alone with the smell of blood and Mike's screams piercing the air.

"Jesus. Fucking. Christ that hurt! Fuuuuuccckkkk…" Mike is clinging to the bridge with one arm, using the other to clutch at his ruined leg. Kurt glances quickly about him, trying to see through the black to the threat that lurks somewhere within it. Seeing nothing in their immediate vicinity, he runs to edge of the bridge. With a look, the steel embedded in Mike's thigh breaks from the concrete, causing him to jolt downwards towards the river, only his other arm keeps him from falling into the river below. Mike's hand glows weakly as his tries to supplement his strength with his Skill.

Kurt jumps off the bridge and floats towards him, grasping the arm clinging to the concrete and pulling Mike back onto the other side of the bridge. Mike collapses to the ground as soon as they land, using both hands, slippery with blood, to grab at his wound. "Christ, Kurt. Those bitches. They broke my fucking leg," he fixes Kurt's eyes with his own, bright and dilated with pain, "Please kill them."

Kurt nods grimly, "I'll do my best."

Kurt quickly removes his shirt, ripping it into three pieces. He rolls the first two up and places them on either side of Mike's thigh, coiled around the pole, which is still embedded in his leg. He then tears the third into thin strips and uses them to bind the two coils tightly to the thigh, thus holding the pole in place and putting enough pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding temporarily. Kurt looks at his handiwork, frowning as the black cotton grows darker with the seepage of blood.

"I think the harpies may have to wait for another day, Mike. I'm taking you back to the Tower. I'd like you to use this flight as time to consider not dying, and also trying to think of how we are going to explain why you were impaled on a steel pole without ever leaving the walls. Now up you come." Kurt hoists his friend over his shoulder, wincing at Mike's involuntary cry of pain in response to the movement. He takes a deep breath and rises into the air, turning towards the direction of the Tower.

This time he doesn't even see the flutter of black wings. With the force of a freight train he is knocked to the ground, feeling every molecule of oxygen leave his body in a rush. Mike is torn from his grasp and Kurt raises his eyes just in time to see his friend pulled into the air by his bad leg, the creature's talon embedded in his skin. Hearing his friend scream in pain and anger, Kurt pushes himself to his feet and prepares to fight. He never has a chance.

Another wall of black rockets in from nowhere, forcing him off his feet, over the edge of the bridge and into the rushing river below. Once again Kurt feels his lungs empty instantly at the shock of impact with the freezing water. He feels himself forced under the water, the creature's talons piercing his scalp, pushing his head down and keeping his eyes closed. Kurt pushes at the scaled legs above him, trying to get them to relinquish their grip. He reaches for his dagger in an attempt to inflict some actual damage, before he remembers holding it on the bridge, and then holding it no more.

Kurt can feel his heart throbbing in his throat and a tight band constricting his chest. He cannot move the talons from his face, though his pushes, pulls and digs his nails into the horny flesh as hard as he can. He can feel the creature pushing him against the current and slowly further and further beneath the surface of the water. A sharp pain shoots forward from the back of his head as it is shoved backwards into something hard and sharp beneath the surface. He feels light-headed; he is losing the feeling in his limbs – he can no longer find anything within with which to fight…

The pressure against his face loosens slightly and he feels the talons retract from his scalp – he opens his eyes.

The creature shoots back from the surface of the water, followed by Kurt, who hovers above the river, blood streaming from the wound to his head, running in rivulets down his body to join the water below. Black wings trembling, the creature takes one look at Kurt, restored to his full power and seeming to glow in the darkness, and turns to flee without a backward glance. Kurt incinerates it before it flies two feet.

He reaches up to touch the wound in his scalp, swaying slightly in the air when he brings his fingers forward to see them smeared with blood. He begins to sink slowly in the air, falling closer to the water with each intake of breath.

He must get to Mike; he must save him; he must…do…something…

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><p>Blaine trails awkwardly behind Nick, inhaling for the hundredth time in preparation to say something, anything, then catching himself mid-breath with the realisation that he doesn't know what else he can say. They are almost at the river now, and Blaine can hear the slow rush of water, even over the falling rain.<p>

He stops and takes a deep breath, "Nick, I…"

"Stop, Blaine." Nick turns to face him, his face contorted in anger. "It's my turn to say something." He looks down, frowning at the muddied earth, "You are my closest friend. Ever since Ari and I found you and Kay I've known you were special. You…you have a way of looking at people Blaine, that makes them feel better than they really are," he looks at Blaine directly now - Nick's eyes, full to the brim with sorrow, bore into his soul, "You made me forget who I was – what I had done. And I loved you for it…I still love you for it."

Blaine opens his mouth to say something, to try and make things whole again, but Nick holds up a hand to stop him, "You don't know what it's been like for me, watching you fall apart after Kay…died. I've wanted to help you so badly – to hold you and make the terrors go away. I've sat outside your tent at night and heard you screaming, Blaine – I wanted to go to you so badly…But Ari told me to let you be, that you would find yourself again in your own time. I realise now that I thought she was telling me that you would find me, that _I_ would be your salvation. She already knew what I should have seen – that you didn't want me…at least not in that way."

Nick sighs deeply and looks at Blaine, the tears evident in his eyes. Blaine suddenly sees him – a scared young man, dripping and shivering in the rain, asking someone for love. Something Blaine wasn't able to give.

"I just…I need to know, Blaine, that this isn't just about Kay…that if you didn't…blame yourself for what happened that night that we might have had a chance – that I might still have a chance."

Blaine shakes his head sadly and looks at his feet, not able to see the hope extinguished in his friend's eyes, "Nick, I…

Blaine trails off as he sees something shining over Nick's shoulder – something lying on the river bank behind him. Nick follows his gaze and draws his sword, starting as Blaine rushes past him, sliding down the slope in his haste to reach the water. As he gets closer to the pale object Blaine slows his pace, creeping like a whisper for the last few steps to peer at the thing at his feet: a human body.

He drops to his knees beside it – luminescent in the darkness, but stained everywhere with bright red blood. Blaine slowly places his hands on the body's shoulders and rolls it over.

It is a young boy, his auburn hair plastered to his face with water, mud and bright streaks of blood. A puckered, red scar dotted with stitches extends down his left side, ending at his navel.

Blaine ghosts his hand down the cheek of the boy lying beneath him, feeling his breath hitch in his throat without really knowing why. He moves it to the side of his neck and presses his fingers to the soft skin to feel for a pulse. At his touch the boy twitches against the ground, his hand shooting up to grasp Blaine's arm tightly. Blaine looks at it in shock and then returns his gaze to the boy's face.

All he can see is eyes…eyes of shocking cobalt-blue.

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><p><strong>And they meet again!<strong>

**Hope you are enjoying yourselves – please feel free to let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** And here we have the first glimpse of our boys together!

**Warnings**: None.

Alas, still no Glee ownership…

Hope you enjoy!

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><p><em>Hidden in gloom on the floor of a battered hotel room, a small, terrified form curls up beside another, much larger bulk. The tiny, pale-skinned boy is half-concealed by blankets, but still he shakes uncontrollably, his fear mixing in with the cold. Shadows form fearsome shapes everywhere around him, but even when he closes his eyes he cannot stop the noise. Explosions slam through the air outside and when he chances a look through his fingers, he can see the windows light up with flashes of red and orange.<em>

_He knows it is not safe to be here, up so high, at the mercy of the bombs from the sky and the rockets from the ground. He knows this because his father looks worried every time he glances out the window. But even as young as he is, the boy also knows that it is much better to be up in the air, with all the furniture barricaded against the door, than down on the ground. He knows this because of the other noise that he grits his teeth against, willing his ears to cease receiving sound; because of the screaming, and the accompanying sounds of the pursuers._

_Feeling helpless in a world gone mad, the boy clutches his blankets to his chest and shuffles further backwards towards his father, trying to keep the entire surface of his body in contact with the warmth and comfort behind him._

_He feels his body jerk spasmodically and his shaking intensify as a particularly large explosion rents the air; the whole building shakes with him. The sky glows red beyond the window, the light spilling into the room and across his face, and he finds that he cannot look away. Something about the light pulls him forwards and he cannot help himself from pushing his blankets away and padding softly over to the window._

_Nose pressed to the glass, his breath fogging in front of him in repetitive bursts, he places his hands on either side of his face, eyes widening at the sight beneath him. The city below is encased in fire. It moves in a way he has never seen fire move – washing backwards and forwards like the sea, throwing out strange shapes into the glowing sky above. The boy stares in awe as, just at the foot of the building they are sheltering in, the fire begins to twirl in the same direction; spinning faster and faster until, right at its centre, something begins to change._

_The boy barely has time to gasp in shock before the world explodes around him. He is thrust backwards, shards of glass nipping at his face and arms, and lands heavily, the back of his head thudding against the ground. He lies still for some moments, waiting for his stunned body to begin to respond again. As he feels the sensation slowly return to his limbs, he raises himself onto his elbows, scrunching his eyelids together and shaking his head to displace the cloud from his eyes._

_When his vision finally clears he looks about him; it is pitch black and he is lying in a field of grass – he has no idea where he is._

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><p>Every now and then we fall apart.<p>

As he feels his eyelids begin to open, struggling to admit the light he knows is beyond their thin veil, Kurt scrunches them tightly together, unwilling to meet reality before he can gather all his pieces together.

His thoughts reel within the turbulence of his mind – he can no sooner grasp one before it is flung far from his reach, replaced by another and then another. He shakes his head from side to side, eyes still tightly shut, trying to shake a single thought from the maelstrom. Where am I? A question, good – all Kurt needs to do to answer it is to open his eyes – easier thought than done.

Whilst he is working on this first obstacle, Kurt turns his attention to finding the rest of his body. Barking orders from his severely shaken brain, Kurt tries to move his arms and then his legs, feeling a sharp shock of electricity run through each as they jolt to life. Now, moving and vaguely coherent, he attempts once more to allow his eyelids to unfurl, sighing as they do, revealing the fuzzy interior of a dimly-lit tent.

Taking a few slow breathes to steady himself, Kurt slowly raises himself up onto his elbows, regretting it almost instantly as the feeling drains from his face, the tent begins to spin and he drops back onto the pillow. Pillow – he is in a bed? Which brings him back to the essential question – where am I?

He is no closer to answering himself when he hears a noise from the far end of the tent. He flings up a hand to cover his eyes when the tent flap is opened, admitting the harsh rays of sun. Kurt takes a few moments to allow the red discs to disappear from his vision before he removes his hand to find a short, curly-haired boy kneeling beside his bed, a timid look on his face, a wooden bowl in his hands.

Kurt recognises him instantly – the boy from the factory – the one killed so gruesomely and consistently in his mind – is kneeling before him, very much alive. And not recoiling in fear.

Coughing slightly as his throat objects to its sudden use, Kurt fixes the boy's hazel eyes with his own, "You know who I am?" the boy nods, softly. "And you're not afraid?" the boy pauses, before shaking his head, "Not any more."

Kurt sighs with a feeling of relief for some reason he cannot fathom. He raises a hand to his temples, massaging them gently, "Can you tell me where I am please. I…my mind is not the clearest it has ever been."

The boy nods curtly, "Of course. You're in my tent, in our camp, deep within the forest…and safe."

Kurt frowns at this. Safe. He feels there is something he is still missing. Shaking his head slightly to clear his mind, he looks back to the boy, who is still watching him intently, "And who are you, exactly?"

The boy smiles sadly, "We are the survivors, the leftovers of society. We scrape a living as best we can – and try our best to stay alive. There are about twenty of us – we've been living in the forest for a year now." His smile brightens slightly, the light almost reaching his eyes, "And I'm Blaine, by the way."

Kurt can feel the corners of his mouth beginning to pull upwards – the light in Blaine's face is infectious, "I'm Kurt. Thank you for saving my life Blaine – twice now it seems." The other boy grins back at him, his eyes beginning to sparkle with the praise.

Wait – that was it. Safe, save…life. Mike.

Kurt sits bolt upright, ignoring the spinning of the room and the shooting pain radiating from the back of his skull. He grabs Blaine's arm, harder than he intended, wincing as the boy flinches at his touch – but he cannot mind that now, time is crucial, and it appears he has none. "Please, Blaine – was there anyone else, when you found me? I was with a friend, he was…taken, taken into the sky by something – did you see anything?"

Blaine shakes his head rapidly and swallows thickly, eyes darting to where Kurt is still tightly gripping his arm. Kurt releases him quickly then looks into the boy's eyes again, imploring him to tell him something, anything.

Blaine swallows again and then begins to speak softly and rapidly, "We found you lying on the river bank – it's a half an hour walk in that direction," he points over Kurt's shoulder to the back of the tent, "You were unconscious and covered in blood – you had a nasty scalp wound – I stitched it up as best I could." Kurt gingerly touches the back of his head, running his fingers over the row of tiny bumps – much neater than Mike's had been. Mike…

Kurt snaps his hand away from the wound as if it had been burnt, and begins to look around the tent for his things, before he realises the pants he is wearing are probably all he has left.

"I have to leave, right now. God knows where he might be by now. How long have I been out?" Kurt's eyes snap back to Blaine, as though he has just remembered he is there. Blaine's eyes widen at the shock of being addressed so abruptly, but he manages to stammer out an answer, "Only last night and this morning – it's early afternoon now." Kurt nods as he pushes the rest of the coverings away, stopping suddenly as he sees his body for the first time.

Both sides of his chest are now mottled with dark bruises, his scar still snakes down the left side of his body, horribly red, joined by a multitude of dried, ruby streaks. His leggings are filthy, marred with blood, mud and dried stains of river water.

Blaine winces apologetically at the look on Kurt's face, "I'm so sorry – I tried to clean you up as best I could, but I wanted you to rest – you looked as though you needed it." Kurt nods softly in acknowledgement. Blaine reaches out to pick up the wooden bowl he had brought with him, "Why don't you try and eat something. It's not much, just soup, but I think it will make you feel better," Kurt nods once again, "Then, when you're finished I can take you somewhere where you can clean up, get you some clean clothes, and then we can find your friend." Kurt looks up sharply at the 'we', and, seeing no hesitation or fear in the hazel eyes, he nods once more, "Ok."

* * *

><p>Kurt floats on his back in the cool, crisp water of the pool, staring at clouds as they ghost past him in the sky. He feels the water permeate through to his soul, cleansing him from the horror of the past few days. Kurt regrets this thought instantly, he doesn't need to be cleansed, he needs to get moving – he doesn't have time for this.<p>

Reluctantly shattering the stillness of the water, he wades back to the edge of the pool. As he passes, Blaine looks down at him from his perch between the branches of a large tree, where he has spent the best part of the last half an hour staring at the air above the water. When he reaches his clean clothes, laid out neatly on a rock, Kurt glances back over his shoulder to Blaine, who has returned to gazing at the sky.

Shrugging, Kurt pulls off his soaked and ruined leggings, quickly drying himself and pulling on the new pair. He leaves his shirt for the moment and turns back to face the water, shaking his head and using his Skill to dry his hair. Closing his eyes, he sighs as he runs his fingers through the auburn strands, wishing he had something to coax them into something slightly presentable. But it doesn't matter; nothing matters at the moment – except leaving as soon as possible. He snaps open his eyes, just in time to see Blaine rapidly return his gaze to the sky, blushing furiously. Kurt feels the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile, before he remembers what he is supposed to be doing and stops them instantly.

He pulls his shirt over his head and laces up the proffered boots. Blaine has been exceptionally generous, given his entire community has to scrape a living from the beleaguered landscape. Kurt wonders whether Blaine has stolen the clothes, shoes and small dagger, frowning slightly at thought of possible punishment once they find Kurt has gone.

Dressed and ready to leave he raises his hand to get Blaine's attention, who jumps from the branch as if scalded and clambers quickly down the tree to the ground.

Kurt smiles at his flustered expression, "What are you staring at so intently?"

Blaine shrugs timidly and scuffs his feet in the dirt, "Oh nothing…" and then, at the enquiring look in Kurt's eyes, "…just, if you look closely enough, in the right light, the little specs of dust in the air seem…animated. Something about the pool I guess, it makes them leap and sparkle in the sky and I like to watch it – it's kind of…"

"Hypnotic," Kurt finishes for him, turning to stare at sky himself. Now that he looks at the dance directly, shifting delicately in the dwindling sunshine, he can feel a presence to it. Something warm and calming rushes over him, through him – just like the sensation of the water, only more pronounced. Kurt looks back to Blaine, "I wonder what it would feel like to be right amongst it? I'll take you if you like – it's the least I can do after all you've done for me, Blaine," he adds when the shorter boy begins to shake his head in refusal.

"Come on," he holds out his hand to grasp Blaine by the elbow, pulling him forwards to stand in front of Kurt. "Now, please don't freak out," he whispers as he wraps his arms around Blaine's waist, feeling him stiffen in response. He rises into the air, taking Blaine with him, and then moves out over the water to hover in the midst of the dust.

It is mesmerising. Now that they are within the dance itself Kurt feels almost a part of it. The light swings around them, scattered from the particles moving in the air. Countless sights, smells, sounds and tastes crash upon him all at once – Kurt is swept up in the warm embrace of the sky. He hears Blaine gasp in front of him, his entire body tense and shaking. It is like nothing Kurt has ever experienced, and his is both intoxicated and alarmed in equal measure. Slowly he backs away from the glittering cloud and lowers himself gently to the ground, Blaine still clasped tightly before him.

As Kurt loosens his grip, Blaine takes a few stumbling steps forward. Turning around to face Kurt, his eyes light up with a smile, incandescent in its brilliance. Kurt cannot help but return it.

"What was that – I've never felt anything like it! Like I'd never be anything but warm and happy again," he lowers his voice, hazel eyes fixing on Kurt's, "Thank you…you don't know what this means to me."

Kurt is paralysed suddenly – caught in the light of those eyes. He feels the rhythm of his heart change suddenly, and he swallows quickly, wrenching his eyes away.

"I honestly have no idea – there are many things about this world that baffle me completely. If I had more time…" he clenches his hand around the hilt of his dagger, his knuckles turning white, "…but I don't. I must go - now. Thank you for everything." He turns to leave, to follow the river back towards the bridge in an attempt to find some trace of his friend.

"Please…" he stops at the soft voice behind him, "…please don't go."

Turning around Kurt can see Blaine grasping nervously at his hands, eyes darting around him in panic. "It's just…I feel…Please I…I think I can help you…find your way through the forest, so you can find your friend," he finishes, looking at Kurt, eyes shining with hope. "Please, Kurt, let me do something good – let me doing something to help."

Kurt realises what is he is about to say moments before he says it, but somehow he feels powerless to stop himself, "Ok, let's go."

He turns back to continue his path through the forest, completely missing the evolving look of shock, pleasure and then pure unbridled hope as it passes across Blaine's face.

* * *

><p><strong>And the adventure begins!<strong>

**Reviews are lovely things to wake up to – would love to know what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hmmm – not quite whether you would classify this as fluff – but there is a happy tilt to it – so it might have to do for now!

**Warnings:** A little bit of violence, some sad memories.

A quick prelude to remind you of our other intrepid traveller, and then some Klaine adventuring…awww…

Still have no ownership over Glee.

Hope you are still enjoying…sometimes hard to tell though…I think my telepathy button is broken (only kidding – the enjoyment is all in the writing!)!

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><p>Black wings press against the air; the ground beneath swings past in a smudge of grey and darkness.<p>

He knows he is going to die, but he cannot quite bring himself to believe what he knows to be true. Despite the slick of blood running down his body and across his face; despite the loss of all sensation from deep within his belly to the tips of his fingers; despite it all, Mike can still feel his eyelids struggling to stay open; can almost feel his hands aching to do something, anything to stop the inevitable.

He tries to summon the Skill, reaching down to his hidden place – once so easily within his grasp, now so obvious in its absence. His strength is gone, and with it the Skill. There is no hope, no chance.

As his final moments draw near, the night air seems to heat around him, welcoming him to the end with its warm embrace. Except it is no longer warm, it is burning – he is burning.

The thrum of beating wings falters slightly and his ears detect a high-pitched scream of torment from some far away, forgotten place. Then he is falling – rapidly at first, slowing at the last, when finally he gives way to the tug of darkness, and closes his eyes to meet the black.

* * *

><p>Blaine's heart hammers desperately in his throat, a rush a fear sweeping across his chest as he approaches the river. Stunned by his reckless decision to join Kurt, it had taken him several minutes before he realised he was heading into the wilderness with nothing but the clothes on his back, and with nothing to tell anyone where he had gone. Begging Kurt to let him go back to the camp, he had run as quickly as he dared, pausing only briefly to sneak into his tent, stuff a few rudimentary supplies into a bag, and scribble out a note to Nick – inadequate, but all time had allowed.<p>

As the thick line of trees approaches, heralding the appearance of the river, Blaine fully expects to find Kurt gone – taking his opportunity to be rid of his troublesome burden. He is therefore shocked to find the young sorcerer still seated on the rock where Blaine had left him, staring calmly into the forest. He sees Kurt's eyes widen at his appearance, seeming to communicate some level of surprise at his return.

Blaine opens his mouth to convey some sort of apology at the delay, or at least some manner of reassurance of his own commitment, but Kurt has already turned back towards the river. Blaine can barely hear him as he utters, "Let's go. We've already lost too much time." Blaine rushes to follow, trying not to dwell too much on the sudden acceptance of his inclusion in this quest, and why it seems to matter to him so much.

They walk in silence along the river bank. Blaine starts to open his mouth to say something, before he realises that the seriousness of their mission and the nerves pulling at his words will likely prevent him from saying anything other than painfully inappropriate drivel, and so he stops himself from speaking at all. Instead he finds himself sneaking small glances at the sorcerer before him, admiring the lithe, muscular build of his body; the gracefully deliberate manner of his walk; the way he spins his dagger in light arcs through the air in front of him, before he remembers himself and looks to the trees instead.

It is not long before they can see the ruins of the bridge looming over the water ahead of them; Kurt breaks into a jog as soon as he sees it, and Blaine follows more slowly behind him. Blaine tries not to gasp at the sight before him – there is so much blood – he cannot imagine a person surviving a loss of that magnitude.

He looks up from the scarlet ground to see Kurt hanging from the edge of the bridge with his feet, the upper part of his body suspended underneath it. Blaine starts forward to prevent him from falling into the river below, when Kurt suddenly swings himself back from the edge and sits up, shaking his head, "Well there's no sign of a nest underneath – they must have come from somewhere else." He looks across the water to the other side of the river, gesturing towards the sky, "I saw it fly in that direction, before I was…otherwise occupied. I can only guess it was returning to some place of safety with its prize."

As he stands, Kurt looks back at Blaine, a heavy frown across his features, studiously avoiding looking at what is spilt at his feet, "He would have lost a lot of blood. Even with all the rain, we might be able to find some trace of it."

"A trail of sorts," Blaine replies, keeping his eyes locked on Kurt's, "Aye," Kurt smiles grimly, "as gruesome a trail of breadcrumbs as you'll ever encounter. Come on," he extends a hand to Blaine, who tentatively steps forward to accept it. Blaine cannot stop the sharp intake of breath as he grasps Kurt's hand tightly in his own. Even the thrill of being pulled upwards into the air cannot displace the jolt in his stomach and the fluttering of his pulse.

As Kurt lets him down gently on the other side of the river, Blaine is beginning to realise why he has chosen to forget himself so recklessly over the past few days; why he cannot stop himself from looking at the young sorcerer; why he seems to have lost control of his own nervous system: 'You like him', a small voice whispers to the back of his skull. Blaine feels himself swallow nervously, 'I know'.

* * *

><p>Now that the thought has colonised his mind, Blaine finds he can think of nothing else. He can feel his feet following the muted instructions of his brain to keep walking; he can hear himself mumbling in response to Kurt's comments about direction of flight path and blood spatter; but he cannot shake from his mind the thought that he is finally feeling what he has been told so many times before that he ought to feel.<p>

His heart beats in a frenzy, in time with the jolting path of his eyes as they try to avoid staring at the boy in front of him: at his auburn locks swaying in time with his hurried steps, his delicate fingers as they stop to examine ruby stains on the trees around them, the slight slope of the small of his back as it meets the curve of his…

Oh God! Blaine covers his eyes with his hand and tries to will away the creeping blush that threatens his cheeks. As he does so, he almost walks straight into Kurt, who has stopped, turning around to face Blaine behind him.

"Blaine. Blaine! Are you alright – you stopped responding to me five minutes ago?"

Blaine snaps his hand to his side and looks up into Kurt's questioning face, almost slamming it back up again at the look of concern in the sorcerer's eyes. God, please don't let him start blushing again. Blaine swallows nervously and attempts a small smile, "I'm sorry I was…distracted." Kurt frowns before him, "Are you sure you were right to come with me? I'm sure I can manage on my own if you would rather go back…" Blaine looks at him with alarm, "No!" he half-yells, and then more softly, "No, I mean, I can help you. Well at least I will now. I'm sorry. This is new to me – adventure, rescuing damsels in distress from the forces of evil and all that!"

He attempts a smile once again, which Kurt returns softly. "I'm surprised to hear that, considering you live where you do, but I am glad for it…glad that one person at least has escaped from all this, even if only for a little while," Kurt continues to look at him gently, causing Blaine to wrench his eyes away, blushing fiercely – if only he knew.

Kurt turns away, sensing his discomfort, "I was asking, if you don't mind, what is to be found in the forest closer to city – the trail heads in that direction," he says, pointing off to their right. Blaine shudders involuntarily, "I…we never go into this part of the forest unless we have to. Where the city begins to make its mark," he says, gesturing towards a rusted metal girder, half hidden in the leaves mere metres from where they stand, "only horror can follow."

Kurt nods, "Nevertheless, it is where I must go. The once-city ceased to shock me some time ago – I have seen her many faces and I have felt the fear she brings, in all its forms. I have to go, and find Mike, and then…I don't know."

Blaine starts at this, "What? You won't go back to the great tower?"

Kurt smiles grimly and shakes his head, "I could not, even if I wanted to – placed as they are, high in the air, the Skilled wish to separate themselves as much as possible from the destruction below, and from anyone who choses to venture into it. Anyway, I feel as though my time there has drawn to a close at precisely the right moment. Nothing is happening in this wreck of a world – I mean to change that."

Blaine nods dumbly, thought he feels he only heard half of what was just said, "You said 'the Skilled' – is that what the sorcerers…what…what you call yourselves?"

Kurt chuckles, his bright eyes flashing with something Blaine cannot fully see, "Yes, ridiculous isn't it. This is my Skill, my 'sorcery', if you like," his palm suddenly erupts into flame, eerily lighting the trees around them. Blaine looks around him at this, realising with a shock that the sun has almost drifted below the horizon; shadows flit through the trees with the breeze.

Kurt follows his gaze, "Ah, yes – I fear the day has deserted us once again. No matter – I must keep going," he raises his hand to the back of his head, touching it tentatively, lines of pain creasing his forehead, "But I cannot ask you to follow me, Blaine – you have helped me enough – I will not force you into danger."

Blaine looks at him steadily, forcing Kurt to raise his eyes to meet him, "What I do, I do willingly. I want to help – I will do so for as long as you let me." Kurt sighs in response, "Ok. Though I sorely hope I am not leading you into more danger," he winces as he touches the back of his head again, drawing Blaine's attention.

"Well, we should go, but only after I have looked at your head – I should put some more ointment on it…I wish I had brought something to dress it with…" Blaine says, rummaging through his bag as he approaches the sorcerer.

Kurt turns around to give him better access to the wound and Blaine stands on his toes to peer at it closely, "Uh…Kurt? I wouldn't mind some more light, if it isn't too much trouble," Kurt chuckles softly, raising a burning hand into the air over his shoulder. As Blaine looks at Kurt's scalp, running his hands through the auburn locks to view the wound more clearly, he cannot stop himself gasping in shock, "I don't understand."

"What?" Kurt wheels around, snuffing his palm out as he reaches his hand up to feel his head. His eyes snap up to meet Blaine's "What is it, Blaine?" Blaine continues to gape at him for several moments before he regains control of himself, "Can you…can you…heal yourself? With magic, I mean," he adds, feeling stupid for asking, despite what he has seen. Kurt shakes his head with a trace of sadness, "No. I cannot manipulate living cells. I mean…I have tried, but I just can't…Why?"

Blaine swallows slowly before answering, "Because your wound is almost completely healed. By the looks of it, I should have taken the stiches out…yesterday…ostensibly before I put them in…" Kurt's eyes widen in shock, before he returns them to a thoughtful stare, "Maybe I did it without knowing, somehow in my sleep?" he shakes his head, "It doesn't matter now. I guess you had better take them out – before they become a permanent fixture."

Blaine nods, and fumbles in his bag for his eating knife. Kurt turns back around and lights his palm once more. Blaine finds the knife at the bottom of his bag and then hesitates before approaching Kurt once again, "It might be easier if you were sitting," Kurt nods and falls softly to his knees, and then, folding his legs neatly beneath him, adopts a cross-legged position in the dirt. He raises his hand higher so it will illuminate the air above his head.

Blaine again hesitates, "Um, Kurt? Can you make the flame hot – I would like to sterilise this if I can?" Kurt makes no perceptible movement, but Blaine can now feel the warmth from his palm seeping through the air towards him. He runs his knife through it, waiting until the blade glows brightly in the night, before withdrawing it.

He looks down at the sorcerer, waiting for the knife to cool, wishing he could think of something to say; something that would make him sound interesting. Just as he is about to make do with something inane and stupid to break the silence, he hears Kurt shift before him, "How old are you Blaine, if you don't mind me asking? You look so young – I just wondered how old you were when the flux…"

Blaine can feel something prickling behind his eyes, and wills himself not to let the tears fall, "I…I…," he sighs softly, eyes fixed on the knife twirling in his fingers, "I don't know. I mean…I don't remember. Anything, that is. I don't know where I was; who I was; who I belonged to, before the flux. I just remember waking up in soot and ruin, to the sound of voices. A woman and her daughter found me in the remains of a schoolyard. They saved me, helped me to survive. They became my family." Blaine is not sure when the tears spilled over, but he can feel tiny drops falling onto his collar. He grips the knife firmly and brings it to Kurt's head to remove the first stitch.

The sorcerer is silent for some time after this – the only sounds in the night around them are the soft snap of sutures breaking. Once again Blaine can feel Kurt shift before him, where his knees are pressed against his shoulders, "I am sorry, Blaine. It's terrible not to know what you have lost – I cannot imagine what it is like to mourn what you don't even remember. But I envy you in so many ways. Some days I would do anything to forget the look on my mother's face as she…died. To not be able to see my father as he was the last night I saw him every time I close my eyes. To not be able to imagine what he thought when he found that I had gone – ripped myself away with powers I didn't even know I had…" Blaine can feel Kurt's muscles tense where they are touching, "…but at least I have something to remember, something to hold onto. I am so sorry, Blaine."

Blaine feels himself nodding, though he knows Kurt cannot see him. He tears his hands away from Kurt's head, "All done." He steps back to allow Kurt to stand, pushing the knife and ointment back into his bag and leaving his gaze fixed on the leather to avoid having to look into those eyes.

"Blaine," he feels a hand placed softly on his shoulder and cannot help but shake in response. With no further power over his actions he looks up to see cobalt eyes fixed on his, softened with concern and something else. As he looks, he no longer cares about the streaks of tears on his face or the blossoming patches of damp on his shirt, "I know your family would have been proud – amazed and happy to see you surviving in this mess; proud to see the man you have become. Whatever stroke of fate or luck brought you across my path, it was a fair wind indeed. I am so grateful that you are here – no one should be walking through these nights alone – and I am glad that it is you, guiding my step, lighting my way."

Kurt smiles gently and slowly raises his other hand to wipe the tears from Blaine's face. Blaine cannot help but close his eyes at the ghost of a touch across his cheek.

When he opens them again Kurt is still looking at him, waiting for him to speak, "How…how old are you?" Kurt smiles in response, "I'm seventeen." Blaine nods, using his sleeve to clean the rest of his face.

He looks up at the sound of Kurt's voice, "Given that you can't remember…how old do you _want_ to be, Blaine?"

Blaine stares at him, before feeling the contours of his face change with the beginnings of a smile, "Seventeen."

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><p><strong>Bless.<strong>

**Hope you enjoyed it – please do not hesitate to let me know what you think – would be great to know if I am heading in the right direction!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Eek – sorry for the delay – life interfered a little!

Here we have the return of our missing adventurer, and the introduction of someone new (a Glee character, though new side of him perhaps!).

Warnings: None

Still no ownership of Glee.

Hope you enjoy!

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><p>Far away in a curtain of black, small specs of light flash sharply in an odd form of synchrony as he glides smoothly beneath them. His eyes were painful to open and now he feels that pain slipping around him to lodge in his torso and finally his left leg. A small part of his mind tells him he is floating down some river of legend to come to a final rest in the afterlife; the rest of him knows to expect that the reality is much crueller – he is very much alive.<p>

Slowly embracing the movement of the rest of his body, Mike begins trying to force himself to sit up, if only to stop the world above from moving. As he does so the air clamps tightly about him, forcing him to continue to stare at the rapidly flowing sky.

Somewhere behind his head, a soft chuckle protrudes from the darkness, "Calm down honey, you'll hurt yourself."

Mike feels his heart still in his chest and he increases his battle to free himself. Reaching for his Skill, he finds only a faint trace of its existence – he is still far too weak. The voice, although slightly high-pitched, like Kurt's, is most decidedly male, and definitely not Kurt. So…he has somehow survived death from beast, fire and gravitational descent, and may have been rescued…or maybe not. Mike tends to prefer the latter, being of suspicious mind, but as he is not currently being disembowelled, he takes this turn of events as a positive – all other creases can always be smoothed out later.

He sighs and closes his eyes, allowing himself to drift along, trying not to think about how his captor (or saviour) is moving him, and where their destination might be. He is so ridiculously tired…

* * *

><p>"Hello in there! Yes, that's it, honey – open up those beautiful eyes. There you go, that's better."<p>

Mike flutters his eyelids open against the great weight crushing them together to see a chocolate-skinned face looking down at him, its features cut through with a wide grin. A dark man is kneeling beside him; one hand placed on Mike's shoulder, the other out of sight at the level of his waist – presumably on a weapon of some kind.

The man continues to smile at him, though there is a hint of trepidation in his eyes – they dart quickly across Mike's body and back to his face – watching for any hint of movement or flash of danger. Mike is both impressed and concerned by the man's careful approach; what on earth has he landed himself in?

Mike begins to move his limbs gently, hissing sharply at the pain produced in his leg at the action. The man furrows his brows in concern at this, but he nods slowly at Mike's attempt, "That's it sweetpea, get that leg moving."

Mike raises his head and looks down at his injured leg, trying to prepare himself for the carnage. He gasps at the sight: pristine white cloth snakes around the leg from his groin to his toes, and rigid boards run along each side of his thigh, holding it steady.

He looks back to the amber eyes beside him, "You did this?" the man nods gently and continues to look at Mike carefully, waiting for his move, "But why? Who are you? Where am I…"

The man laughs more broadly this time, and holds up both hands before him in protest, "Slow down there tiger – no need to get your knickers in a twist! I see a handsome boy, bleeding profusely, flying across the sky, I leap to the rescue – it's just in my nature honey," he drops his hands and looks at his nails, running the fingers of one hand across the chipped, red lacquer of the other, before fixing his eyes once again on Mike's, "the Fabulous Lady Thomasina lives to serve her fellow man!"

Mike swallows thickly and lays his head back on his pillow with a sigh, "Well thank you, then…Lady Thomasina…I owe you my life."

She looks away, using her hand in an attempt to smother the giggle that escapes her lips, "There's no need to look so uncomfortable sweetpea. A girl's got to entertain herself in times such as these! If it makes you feel better, just call me Thom. And…" she sweeps her eyes back to look at Mike once more, all traces of a smile erased from her features, "…I certainly ask nothing from you – I may dress like a woman when it suits me, but my tastes do not differ from your average red-blooded man."

Mike continues to meet the fierce gaze above him. He feels as though Thom is trying to extract something from him, a truth or a promise. Mike swallows nervously, struggling to find something to say. He feels uncomfortable, and suddenly more on edge than he was before; he finds he cannot continue to hold Thom's stare. He hears movement beside him and then the sound of footsteps moving away. A heavy door is pushed open, and the feet move through it, pausing before closing it, "It's ok honey, I understand. I've left you some food – you should try and eat something, you need the energy."

Still furiously studying the bandages on his leg, Mike hears the door begin to swing close, "Oh, and Mike, honey…I am very much a man, in case you were confused."

As he concentrates on the burning flare that lights his cheeks, the slamming door cuts off the sound of the delighted laughter beyond it, and Mike almost forgets that his captor just used his name…almost.

* * *

><p>After several agonising minutes spent moving himself into a sitting position, Mike can now see the full extent of his prison. For he is now sure of the nature of his 'rescue'; although the motive still remains obtuse, Thom's behaviour towards him puts Mike in no doubt that he has been brought to this place for a reason.<p>

The room is reasonably small, constructed of brick and crumbling plaster. Along the wall opposite, a long, once-white bench runs underneath an almost completely intact mirror in which, although it is spotted with age, he can see his face, drawn and pale, staring back at him. Bordering the mirror are a series of bulbs, some still whole, and along the wall to his right, racks and racks of extravagantly coloured clothes contrast starkly with the decay around him. He remembers rooms like this from the films of his youth; he is in a dressing room.

Trying to ignore the searing pain through his leg, Mike shuffles across his mattress so he can more easily reach the food his captor has left him. He picks up the bowl of soup, now lukewarm, and sniffs it hesitantly. Nothing. Not that it brings much comfort. He sighs softly and dips a finger in the mixture, resisting the urge to gulp down the whole thing at the jolt in his stomach as the soup touches his tongue. He forces himself to wait several minutes, searching every aspect of his body and mind for possible side effects of drugs or poison. Finally, with a slight sense of trepidation, and a more prominent feeling of desperate hunger, he downs the contents of the bowl in several large swallows.

The small bowl of soup is not nearly enough, but he feels its meagre warmth spreading to fill the areas that matter; a small bud of Skill tugs within him, steadily beginning to grow. With a contented sigh he manoeuvres himself back onto the mattress, laying his head back down to the pillow. His eyelids suddenly feel impossible to keep open and although he knows that letting down his guard whilst a captive of the Fabulous Lady Thomasina might be a fatal mistake, fatigue pulls at him tirelessly. With one last, half-hearted attempt to hold his eyes open, Mike feels himself drift into back into the black with relish.

* * *

><p>The silence of sleep is torn by a high-pitched scream. Mike's body slams upright: he is breathing heavily and covered with the unpleasant sensation of stale sweat. He looks around him in alarm as the screaming starts again, punctuated with shouts and the sounds of a struggle. The noise isn't coming from within the room, but from somewhere beyond the door.<p>

Mike looks around the room for something to use as a weapon. He is just about to move himself to his feet in order to dismantle one of the clothes racks when the door to the room screeches in protest. He tries to calm his hammering pulse, reaching for his ever-increasing Skill as it opens slowly and Thom walks quickly inside, shutting the door softly behind him.

It seems to Mike as though his captor is nervous, but working very hard not to show it. As Thom strides closer Mike shrinks into the wall, grasping for his Skill in order to put up some kind of defence. He clears his throat in an attempt to stall, "What the hell is going on…"

Thom runs the last few steps towards Mike and smashes his hand over his mouth, bringing his other hand to his own mouth in a gesture to request silence, "Shhhhh pretty boy. Now is not a good time to get chatty honey. Now if I take my hand away will you promise to stay silent for Lady Thom so you can have your dinner?" Mike feels himself nodding slowly.

"That's my boy. There we go my lovely, nice and quiet now."

Thom draws his hand away slowly, leaving it hovering in the air as he looks at Mike questioningly, as though daring him to make a sound. Mike nods again and looks to the package Thom dropped in his rush to silence him. Thom smiles and nods enthusiastically, drawing Mike's attention to the bright blue eye shadow, false eye lashes and scarlet lipstick adorning his face. Mike reaches for the paper and unwraps it to reveal three small loaves of bread and a can of peaches.

He can feel his heart calming in his chest – although the possibility of betrayal via food is likely, Mike feels protected somehow, like the food is an offering, a proposal of trust. He breaks open the first roll and then, hesitating, offers half to Thom, who takes it with a smile and a soft chuckle. They eat silently for a few moments, the alarming sounds from beyond the door dimming slowly.

Mike looks across at the man in front of him, surely not much older than he is, chewing delicately on a bread roll, made up like a movie starlet, and makes a decision, "What's going on here, Thom. What's happening upstairs? Please tell me – why am I here?" he asks, quietly.

Thom slowly stops chewing and swallows thickly, bringing his eyes up to meet Mike's, "Nothing honey. Just some people, moving from one place to another."

Mike puts down the rest of his roll, meeting his captor's eyes with a hard stare, "Why are they screaming?"

Thom swallows nervously and gets to his feet, tearing his gaze away from Mike, "Because they're scared – we're all scared in this world."

"What have you done to them, Thom? What…what are you going to do to me?" Mike tries to keep his voice steady and strong, though he can feel his heart jump into his throat and his hands begin to shake.

Thom begins to pace in front of him, finally coming to a stop in front of the clothes rack. He runs his fingers through the fabric of some of the dresses, caressing them almost lovingly. When he turns back to Mike his face is changed by a small smile.

He begins to speak, very softly, "It has never been easy being me. I have always been the anomaly, the outlier. All this," he turns on the spot, arms spread out to his sides, eyes closed and his head tilted back, his features the picture of serenity, "was a blessing. Suddenly I was still different, but I was alone, with no one to judge what they could no longer see. I found this place almost untouched by the chaos."

He walks over to the bench along the wall and rubs his hand across the mirror to clear a small patch of dust, "It used to be a school's auditorium – this is the girls' dressing room," he chuckles and turns back to face Mike, "and it has suited me very well – sheltered me, allowed me to play out my secret desires…and it has enabled me to utilise my other…talents."

As Thom walks back towards him, Mike can feel his pulse quicken once more; he steels his nerve and grasps his Skill more firmly, ready to strike as soon as he is threatened. His captor kneels down before him and looks at him directly once more, "Because I have what you have, Michael. I am Skilled."

Mike cannot stop his sharp intake of breath. He feels his Skill building within him, his hands begin to glow in preparation…

"Calm down honey," Thom grabs both his hands, the shock of the contact causing Mike to loose his hold on his power, "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Besides, my talent is of a different kind."

He stands once more, brushing his pants to remove the dust that clings to them. As he turns to go he looks down at Mike, still trying to control his rapid breaths and slamming pulse. Mike returns the glance and steadies his voice, "What do you want from me?"

Thom looks at him firmly and answers softly, "I like you honey – have no fear of me. Just try and stay quiet – we wouldn't want any sign of you to travel upstairs."

He moves away towards the door, listening at it before silently turning the handle. Before pushing it open he turns back to Mike, "Make sure you eat up – we'll have you good as new in no time…ready to go back to your little friend…when he gets here."

Mike barely notices as Thom leaves, remaining in the same position for an age. Something is terribly wrong here; something is at work that is far greater than he could ever hope to understand. But what he does understand is danger, and somehow he has just thrust Kurt right into it. And there is nothing he can do.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think!<strong>

**I shall be speedier with the next update – for it shall be the return of our Terrific Twosome!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Happy Easter to all! Hope you are enjoying the long weekend!

Our boys are back on their quest, with an (almost) single-minded purpose! But will they find what they are looking for?

**Warnings:** A little violence, not much.

Still no ownership of all things wonderful. Sadface.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>Thud. Thud. .Thuthuthuthththth<em>

Kurt is acutely aware of every measured and now increasingly erratic beat of the heart walking a few paces behind him. He can feel the pull of every breath as clearly as if his skin is the air inhaled. He is even beginning to experience the sharp prickle of adrenaline rushing through his body to lodge in his stomach, fluttering about like a caged bird.

Kurt doesn't understand.

He has always felt the emotions of others keenly, but never has he been able to feel the physical effects of another's body. The art of using his Skill to manipulate living cells has always been elusive, and although he practiced vigorously, he has only occasionally felt as though some form of control was even remotely within his grasp. He has never felt anything like this before; as if any unfettered action might accidently cause someone's blood to still; their diaphragm to stop contracting; their heart to stop.

Kurt is too scared to speak, too scared to do anything with his eyes except concentrate on navigating the brightening forest-riddled once-city around him. He doesn't understand what has happened to him during the last few hours: why now, and why with Blaine?

He feels the volume of the heart beat increase and feels a sharp intake of breath, before he hears the sound of feet jogging through debris. At the periphery of his vision, still not daring to tear his eyes from the view before him, Kurt sees Blaine pull up beside him.

"Kurt?" Blaine's voice is breathy and timid, soaked with fear. Kurt doesn't trust himself to respond, not when he can feel his Skill tugging behind his eyes, daring him to release it.

"Kurt?" Blaine is more hesitant now, he drops back slightly so he is walking just behind Kurt, "I was just wondering if…if it's ok if I walk with you. It's just the city…"

Kurt desperately wants to reassure him, to say something to keep his mind safe, but he dares not. Blaine's heart begins to beat more rapidly at Kurt's silence and Kurt can feel the hot streaks of adrenaline rushing through him, "Oh…don't worry…it's fine, I'm fine. I'm sorry if I'm being a nuisance – I'm no real use to you am I? Maybe I should just go back…"

Kurt stops and turns to face him, though he is carefully not to look him directly in the eyes, "No, Blaine. I would never have found my way on my own – you're much better at spotting the trail than I am," he watches Blaine's mouth turn up slightly at the corners, "It's not you. I'm sorry if I've been acting strangely, it's just…something is going on with my Skill. I'm…I'm afraid I might…accidentally hurt you," he finishes in a rush, looking over Blaine's shoulder into the approaching dawn.

Blaine shifts uncomfortably for a few seconds, "I honestly don't think you could."

Kurt feels his own heart jump beyond its rhythm at this. He swallows thickly and sighs, "Ok. I know you're scared, Blaine…I just want to try something…if that's alright with you?"

He sees Blaine's dark curls bounce evenly against the sky as he nods in acquiescence.

Kurt sighs softly again, "Ok."

He slowly turns to look at Blaine, grasping for a strong grip on his racing Skill as he does so. As his cobalt eyes meet Blaine's hazel ones, the intensity of Blaine's vitality hits him like a wall – Kurt can feel every nuance of every second of his existence. Forcing his own breaths to calm and infuse him, Kurt harnesses the Skill bubbling behind his eyes. With an imperceptible change in his pupil, he targets his own calm towards the shorter boy, trying to marry his own sense of newly-created peace with Blaine's feeling of impending doom.

As the Skill moves through Blaine, Kurt can feel it caressing his fluttering heart and ragged breaths. He feels it slow the electrical impulses in the cardiac cells; soothe the phrenic nerve away from moving the diaphragm; metabolise the adrenaline to stop its action. Blaine now matches him breath for breath, heart beat to heart beat, and Kurt has never felt so content.

He withdraws his Skill and loses his touch with Blaine, focusing on seeing him instead. The dark-haired boy is staring at him with absolute wonder, his hand reaching out slowly from his side as though to grasp Kurt's. Not ready to risk the contact yet, Kurt smiles and steps back as though to admire his handiwork, looking Blaine up and down, "Now that's much better! How did it feel – I hope it wasn't too awkward?"

Blaine swallows and shakes his head rapidly, "No, no! That was amazing…I was so afraid…but the fear – it's gone! I feel…that was perfect – thank you."

Kurt nods and continues to smile, "No – thank you. I…that was the first time I've ever done anything like that! I must be able to use my Skill on living things now – that's how I managed to heal myself so quickly. God knows how I'm doing it though," he turns back to face the direction they had been walking, but risks a sly look at Blaine before he continues, "Maybe it's you Blaine – you must be my good luck charm. You'd better not be going anywhere."

He can hear Blaine follow him as he starts walking again, footsteps sounding just behind his shoulder. Kurt barely hears his reply above the crunch of his boots on the rubble beneath them, "I honestly don't think I could."

* * *

><p>Blaine kneels down to place a hand tentatively on the scarlet-stained earth. He furrows his brows and looks around him, searching the ground for more of the ruby trail. Kurt can feel the occasional sharp spike of adrenaline fracturing through the blanket of exhaustion that has started to cover Blaine. It is no wonder – neither has slept for nearly a day now – nothing new for Kurt, disastrously novel for Blaine. Kurt can feel it in the droop of his head; the numbing of sensation; the blurring of his vision.<p>

He shakes his head in an attempt to rid himself of thoughts of Blaine and returns to surveying the landscape for any hidden danger. He wishes he had more time to dwell on the miraculous appearance of his Skilled influence over living things, or on any of the happenings of the last few days, but he cannot – for now he has one purpose: to find Mike.

So he stops himself from telling Blaine that they can stop now, find somewhere to rest, something to eat. He tries to push away his perception of the shorter boy's sapping strength and no doubt dimming resolve. He needs Blaine's help, and a small part of him, which he perceives is growing stronger by the minute, tells him that he could not go on without him. Not now.

As Blaine turns towards him, Kurt tries to push all thoughts of the other boy as far away as possible – he cannot extinguish his guilt, he cannot vanish Blaine's exhaustion, he cannot pretend that something isn't changing within him – but he can forget it all, just for a little while – until their work is done.

"I think this is it," Blaine tells him, gesturing about him at the rubble surrounding the large stain of blood he is kneeling before, "this is where the trail ends. Whatever happened, your friend stopped bleeding here."

Immediately he winces at the look on Kurt's face, "I didn't mean that…look!" he points away to his right. Several metres away, partially obscured by a tangled heap of discarded metal, Kurt can see a lump of black material. He runs towards it and picks it up in shaking hands – black leggings, neatly severed along the seams, allowing them to be removed with minimal damage to the injured leg. At his feet, several slender cardboard tubes shift lightly in the morning breeze, bumping against a half-used roll of white bandage.

Someone had treated Mike's leg – here in the dirt. And then done what – taken him somewhere? Surely not far – how would someone be able to move such a tall man with a broken leg…unless they weren't alone.

Kurt frowns as he turns to look at the ruins around him – where are you Mike?

Blaine stands up from his position beside the final blood stain and moves to stand beside him. Obviously still calmed from Kurt's previous intervention, his pulse is steady and his breath is even. He places his hand gently on Kurt's shoulder and gives it a hesitant squeeze, "We'll find him Kurt – where would you like to start?"

Kurt sighs heavily, and turns to look at him with what he hopes is a look of gratitude written in his features, "I guess here is as good a place as any. We can assume someone treated his leg and then took him somewhere – hopefully somewhere safe. So, I suppose, we are looking for some place where people might hide from the city, hopefully not too far from this spot."

Blaine nods, his eyes hard with determination. Kurt wishes he could feel the same resolve – it seems like a fruitless task, and one that is unlikely to have a happy ending. Nevertheless he will try, will keep on trying until he finds his end.

* * *

><p>After hours of searching the city's diseased shadows and decaying underbelly they have still found no trace of a possible human safe house. Fumbling along the floor of a half-fallen garage for a hiding place, Blaine had disturbed a gigantic, malformed centipede, which had threatened to eviscerate him with sabre-like pincers until Kurt had shot it through the head.<p>

Now, filthy, disheartened and exhausted to the point of delirium, they sit on the remains of a Volkswagen, each numbly chewing on a bread roll, watching the sun begin its slow tilt below the horizon.

Kurt looks across at the boy sitting next to him, the soft afternoon light shining against his skin and reflecting in bright shafts from his eyes. He had met Blaine three days ago, and yet it seemed like an age. He doesn't believe in God, and thus feels it hypocritical of him to believe in fate. So this is what incredibly good luck must feel like – if only Mike hadn't been lost in the midst of it.

Kurt sighs in what he fears may be a tone of resignation. He cannot abandon his best friend, but this will not end well, he can feel it. And he will not allow himself to lead Blaine into danger and ruin. If he somehow survives this…quest…he wants to be able to look into those hazel eyes and see and say something more – and for that he needs Blaine to be alive – he needs Blaine to go home, to be safe.

He takes a deep breath and turns to tell the boy next to him, but stills his words immediately at the sight of Blaine's face, "Wait," Blaine says, before dropping his roll and jumping off the car. He runs forward a few paces and lands in the dirt in front of a large piece of metal - blue with white lines. Using the sleeve of his tunic, Blaine cleans the metal of its dirt-encrusted prison to reveal the words written underneath – it is a sign – _William McKinley High School_ – and underneath that, with an arrow pointing left – _April Rhodes Civic Pavilion (Auditorium)_.

Kneeling beside him, Kurt looks at Blaine expectantly, "I don't understand…"

Blaine shakes his head wildly, a smile beginning to appear, "I remember, after Kay and her mum found me in the remains of a school, we stayed hidden for a long time. We hid in the only part of the school that wasn't destroyed, deep underground – it was built like an amphitheatre, with tiers of seats leading down to the stage – the school's auditorium!"

Kurt feels his heart jump once in his chest – one small beacon of hope, "But it could be anywhere – this sign could have come from anywhere."

Blaine shakes his head again, the smile forming into a permanent grin, "It's just fallen over – you can see the metal posts here, just in front of it! This mess used to be a school and the auditorium," he stands up and points to their left, "must be somewhere over there."

He holds out his hand and pulls Kurt to his feet, "It's as good a place to start as any, don't you think?"

Kurt nods gently, feeling suddenly lighter, "It is. Thank you Blaine – see how much I need you?"

Blaine tilts his head in response, the grin refusing to leave his face, "Let's check it out then, though," he pauses before heading in the direction of the sign, "if you see any giant centipedes, please shoot arrows first, and ask questions later."

Kurt grins back at him, "Deal."

They make their way across the uneven ground in the direction of the arrow, eyes fixed downwards for any trace for a putative entrance. The whole area has a sense of despair: Kurt can almost feel the ghosts of children rush past him in echoes of lives once lived. He can feel Blaine shivering beside him in a way that has nothing to do with the rapidly chilling air.

Now that they are concentrating, small traces of the school slowly emerge from the shadows: charred plastic chairs, shattered school desks, a delicate Maths textbook that crumbles to pieces in Blaine's hands. Whoever lives here, if anyone actually does, is very good at remaining invisible.

Kurt is beginning to worry again. Soon it will be dark, and the idea of leading Blaine through a once-city wrapped in blackness is less than appealing. He should send Blaine back, maybe go with him for part of the way, and continue the search by himself. Then he would be able to concentrate fully on his task without half his mind occupied with thoughts of the other boy's safety. But then perhaps half his mind would be hundreds of miles away, instead of just a few metres. Sighing, he continues to pick his way through the ruins of the schoolyard – maybe just a few more minutes of searching. Then they can find somewhere to lay low, sleep for a few hours, and then start again. Whether that will be with or without Blaine he can decide later.

He looks across Blaine, his eyes welded to the ground in concentration, his hand absently pulling through his hair to move it out of his field of vision…when suddenly he is there no more.

With an explosive crash he falls through the earth, a sizeable amount of the surrounding debris tumbling down behind him. After standing numbly for a few seconds, Kurt shakes himself into action and falls to his knees beside the newly-created hole, holding a blazing hand into the air for illumination.

As the dust clears he begins to see faltering movement several metres below as a coughing Blaine pushes a large segment of plaster board off his torso. Without a second thought Kurt jumps down into the hole, landing lightly next to Blaine, who has pushed himself into a sitting position and is giggling uncontrollably.

"Jesus Blaine – you scared the shit out of me! Are you…are you ok?" Kurt reaches out a hand to tentatively wipe a small smear of blood away from a scratch on Blaine's temple. Blaine tries to control his laughter, breathing deeply and evenly, "No…no…I'm fine…just…a…few scratches…I think. Phew…God that was hilarious though – I almost…"

Both of them look up sharply as a loud, booming noise careens towards them out of the darkness. They have forgotten themselves again – they have to stop doing this, Kurt has to stop doing this, or it's going to get them killed.

Kurt stands up quickly and pulls his dagger from his sheath, snuffing out his palm as he does so. He closes his eyes and uses his Skill to sense his surroundings. Nothing – no movement, no pulse of life. He relaxes slightly, but keeps his dagger unsheathed.

Blaine brushes off the rest of the debris and staggers to a standing position, "Are you sure you're ok?" Kurt asks him softly. Blaine nods in return, "I'm sure I'll live," he replies quietly.

Kurt looks up at the twilight peeking down at them through the rent in the earth above them, "I guess I better close this up – stop anything following us out of curiosity." He begins to float the larger objects out to roughly cover the hole, slowly blocking out the last of the light from the world above. Beside him, Blaine swallows nervously, "We'll…we'll be able to get out though, won't we?" Kurt chuckles softly, "Don't worry Blaine, I'll get us out of here, I promise. Besides – that certainly wasn't the official entrance – there must have been a way in here originally. If we can find that, our exit may not have to be as dramatic as our entrance."

As he finishes filling in the final gaps he allows his hand to emit a soft, glowing light, like the dying embers of a fire. Blaine looks slightly relieved at this and his features noticeably relax. Kurt hides a small smile before turning to survey the area around them. They are standing in a small passageway – behind him, piles of chairs and wooden boxes seem to be barricaded against a metal surface – a door perhaps. Before him, as he raises his hand higher, he can see a staircase heading down into more uncertain blackness. He turns to look at the boy standing behind him, looking only slightly nervous, and beckons to him with his dagger, "Come on Blaine, let's do this."

He walks slowly down the stairs, relieved to feel Blaine's skipping heart beat following behind him. Their steps punch through the eerie silence, and Kurt feels his own heart quicken with each small descent. But as they reach the end of the stairs Kurt suppresses a gasp – before them is the largest room he has ever seen. An enormous vaulted roof glides above them and, spread below the tiers of chair-laden steps, is a stage - smooth and glistening in Kurt's paltry light.

Blaine steps down to stand beside him, "Wow – this is much better than the one we hid in – look at the stage – they had proper light rigging and everything!" He runs past Kurt to skip lightly down to stairs towards the stage. Once again it takes Kurt a few moments of watching the boy before he remembers where they are, curses and follows him at a jog, dagger held before him.

Blaine runs up the stairs beside the stage and slides across the wooden boards to stand in its centre. He spreads his arms wide and closes his eyes and, as Kurt runs up the stairs to join him, he begins spinning in wild circles - a small smile on his face. Kurt tears his eyes from the sight to look around them – searching for any trace of human habitation – any trace of Mike.

He walks across to the other side of the stage, and passes through the now-tattered curtains to the backstage area. He remembers this from the movies – the place where the actors and dancers would stand, waiting for their moment to shine. He smiles as he runs his fingers through the dust of a desk just next to curtains and wonders what it might have been like to live in a world where all of this still existed.

Kurt looks back to Blaine who has stopped spinning, a sheepish smile on his face. He jogs over to join Kurt, "Sorry, it's just it reminded me of…happier times…I…," Kurt holds up his glowing hand to stop him, "Please Blaine – you don't have to apologise to me. Let's see what we can find. I can't feel anyone here, but I think we should make sure. But then, maybe we could stay here tonight, get some sleep." Blaine nods a little too enthusiastically and Kurt smiles to himself as he turns away.

A few minutes later, having explored both sides of the stage to find another barricaded entranceway and two deserted dressing rooms, Kurt is satisfied that there is no one here. With a sigh of resignation he slides down the wall of the second dressing room and lays his head on his knees. He hears Blaine move to sit softly beside him, and then feels the tentative touch of a hand on his back.

"I feel like I've failed him Blaine. What…what if I'm too late? What if he's…"

"Shhhh…don't ever think that. We'll find him Kurt, I know we will."

Kurt nods into his knees, then slowly raises his head to look at the boy beside him, "I know I should keep going – keep looking for him…but, for the first time in such a long time, I'm just so damn tired." Blaine shoots him a small smile, "Me too. Let's get some rest – we'll start again in a few hours."

Kurt nods dumbly. He is so, so tired

* * *

><p>In the next room Mike is fighting for his life. He feels all his strength, all of his Skill, such that it is, surging to the surface, begging to be released. He longs to set it free; to yell to Kurt, who he can hear mere metres away; to tell him that he is here - right here. He longs to wreak havoc on his captor, who he can feel pressed against his back, his breath flitting in muggy bursts across his shoulders. If only – if it weren't for the tight cage he can feel pressed around his Skill; if it weren't for the knife pressed tightly against his neck, forcing small beads of blood to trickle gently down his throat to stain the collar of his white shirt. If only…<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Oh no – so close and yet so far!<strong>

**Hope you are enjoying yourselves – please let me know what you think!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait – was distracted by various life occurrences! I shall be much quicker with the next update as I have some time up my sleeve at the moment!

A little flashback, and then Kurt comes to his senses!

**Warnings**: Some violence, nothing you guys can't handle I'm sure!

Still no ownership (alas) of Glee or its characters etc. etc.

Please enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>Surrounded by darkness, a small, weak splash of light clings to the features of the young girl seated across from him. It traces down the length of her scar, skipping along otherwise flawless skin from eye to mouth. With her legs curled delicately beneath her in the dirt, she fidgets with her fingers in her lap. Fighting feebly against the black wrapped around her, the candlelight brightens the flecks in her eyes, making her seem older than she is. But behind the lying glow Mike can see the dirt streaked across her face, her arms, her tattered clothes; her rapidly wasting form; the fear mingled in amongst the brave flecks of her deep brown eyes – the petrified little girl underneath it all.<em>

_She holds her hands to the flame timidly; so close that he fears she will burn them, with blisters rising up against garish pink skin. Pain to replace pain. He understands this, better than he understands anything else. Far better than he understands the dry, misused husk that used to be his mother – lying on a soiled mattress in the room next door, barely breathing now. And much, much better than he understands the form that has remained hunched over her for days, weeping silently, ceasing to be a man._

_Mike sighs, very, very softly and looks down at the tin of tuna cradled in his hands. The nauseating smell cloys in the air; he finds he cannot bring himself to force anymore of it into his mouth, despite the fact that he knows he needs it desperately. He looks up at Lydia to see her watching him carefully, the savage marks of hunger splashed across her face. As she licks her lips, her pupils dilating in the dim light, Mike can bear it no longer. He thrusts the tin towards her, his arm almost brushing the naked flame, and recoils his hand sharply as she snatches it from him. He looks away and tries not to hear the mewling sounds of pleasure she makes as she devours the offering._

_Instead he looks up at the windows in the small room, checking to make sure the covers are still in place. He shivers at the thought of any of their meagre light penetrating the blackness beyond these walls._

_Mike jumps suddenly as a hideous sound erupts from the room behind them. Stumbling to his feet, he tries to ignore the shifting lightness in his head and the way his vision dims around the edges. He shuffles quickly into the next room, the soft patter of his sister's footsteps creeping along behind him. He finds his father draped across the figure that used to be mother, carer, friend; his mouth partially opened to emit piteous, inhuman cries; his face streaked with tears and mucous. Mike wrinkles his nose in disgust as he clamps his hand across his father's mouth – once a man, strong and unforgiving, now reduced to this. He shudders at the vibrations against his hand as the once-man continues to sob, clinging weakly to the clothes of the body beneath him as Mike struggles to pull him away. He feels the clothes shift beneath his hand as his sister joins him – together they manage to topple their father to the floor beside the mattress._

_He stops making noise now, the once-man, instead he writhes gently on the floor, his mouth opened in a noiseless scream. Standing between their parents, the two children look at each other briefly, seeing their grief mirrored in identical faces. Mike lowers himself slowly to his knees, reaching his hand out slowly to cup his mother's cheek. It is freezing – he wonders how long she has been dead. Barely feeling the water streaking down his own face, he moves his hand to close her eyelids, giving her some final peace, he hopes._

_He stands again and takes his sister's hand, using the other to wipe his face. He hears Lydia sniff sharply beside him. Together they turn to face the form sprawled on the floor beside them, to find that he has stopped moving, stopped crying, stopped everything. Staring at the ceiling above them with dead eyes, only the rise and fall of his chest against the dirt betrays his life._

_For some reason this feels worse than the infantile despair of before. That man could recover, could return to the person he was, could protect them, save them. This man…Mike is suddenly very afraid._

_Their once-father seems to shudder against the ground and then pushes himself up to stand before them. He turns his head to look at his two children, shaking before him with fear and grief, before turning away and running towards the door._

_It takes Mike a few moments before he realises what is happening, and by then his once-father has wrenched the door open and rushed out into the unforgiving night. Mike takes one look at his sister, her eyes wide, her whole body shaking in fright, before he tears outside in pursuit of the man who was supposed to love and protect them…always._

_As he reaches the doorway he hears the herald of their doom. His father has sunk to his knees in the dirt, fists punching small craters in the earth around him, a mind-shattering scream sprinting from his lips. Mike stalls, his breath tearing from his chest in small bursts of pain and looks around him into the night. He cannot panic, he cannot loose control. But everything seems already lost – he cannot stop the sound, he cannot flee – that would be madness. What should he do? How can he save them?_

_A moment of indecision is all it takes. Suddenly the night around them is alive with noise. The sounds travel around the screams of his father to lodge in Mike's mind, and the pit of his stomach. He cannot move – all he can do is stare into the night and wait for death. He barely notices the hand on his arm, desperately trying to pull him back inside. Only when the screams are stilled and the man who was once his father explodes into a blur of red and white does he feel himself go limp, and allows the desperate presence behind him to pull him inside and shut the door._

_They hide beneath the mattress, clinging to the darkness like their only salvation, and clinging to each other as their last touch with life. The world shatters around them in a cacophony of monstrous sound and terror. At some point Mike feels the weight of the body above him diminish and waits with bated breath for the death that never comes. Finally, left with nothing but their fear, they emerge from beneath the death-soaked mattress, to try and find a will to live again in a world gone mad._

* * *

><p>Mike is snapped back to the present by the cold press of steel against his throat. Hot puffs of air scrape against his ear as Death speaks to him, "I thought I'd almost lost you there for a moment, all that moaning and thrashing about. Lady Thom has a lot of patience for good boys like you, but my patience is starting to wear thin. Now, just sit still like a good boy for a few minutes longer, then we're out of here, and Lady Thom can give you all the attention you deserve. Good boy, there's my good, good boy."<p>

Mike tries not flinch as the knife slides across his already-torn skin, biting deeper into flesh. He feels the oily smear of lipstick against his skin as Thom presses a wet kiss to his cheek. He has to get away, has to scream, has to get to Kurt.

Kurt…

* * *

><p>Kurt can hear the deep, even breathing of the boy next to him, can feel the signs of his life rushing through him. It is like a drug, he decides – Blaine's life – he can't get enough. But even as he thinks it he tries to toss the thought away – to be in control of something so important, to know that he can give as much as he can take away – it is at once both exhilarating and repellent. Kurt is disgusted with himself. The one thing he has lusted after for so long – the one thing that would truly make him special, prove that he was better than all of them – he has it now. But Kurt isn't sure he wants it any longer. What if it's just Blaine he can feel? Just Blaine's breath he can slowly calm, still forever.<p>

Kurt shudders and slams his eyes closed. Monster. That same thought, always unbidden, creeps slowly across his blinded vision. Unnatural, with no purpose but to hurt and maim. He hadn't even wanted to use his _gift_ for any purpose but grandstanding until some sense of duty forced him to help Mike ground his grief. Mike was right to be surprised that he would want to help the people beyond the tower. He had never wanted to help anyone before.

Shifting restlessly against the ground, Kurt tries to find a position of comfort. It isn't that he despised others or thought them unworthy, he never thought it was his place to do anything, because he simply considered himself to be in hell. Stuck in some twisted, tortured approximation of life after civilisation, he hadn't been allowed to leave with his parents, his friends – anyone he had ever known. Altered, malformed, he was dumped back into this hell, stranded with others like him. Whatever he had done in his life before the flux, it had obviously been terrible enough to leave him here, alone. So what was the point in changing fate.

But that was before...

Kurt opens his eyes, turning his head to gaze at the sleeping figure beside him, watching Blaine's eyelids flutter madly against his dreams. Before he knew there were real people in the world – untouched by tainted vapours of a dying earth: people worth saving.

Kurt doesn't notice the tears leaking from his eyes until they begin to stain the sleeve of his tunic. He wipes them away hurriedly, before he reveals his feelings to the night. Blinking his eyes a few times to clear his vision, he closes them softly, willing sleep to come. His fatigue presses down on him, wrapping itself around every centimetre of his flesh, and yet sleep remains absent, as it always does. And so he does what he always does – pushes the exhaustion away to hide in the spot between his eyes – a dull ache that dogs his every waking hour.

He opens his eyes and sits up in the darkness, wrapping his legs beneath him to lean against the wall of the dressing room. Meditation will have to do, as always.

Kurt feels his Skill begin to flow steadily through his body, reaching for every skin cell, every nerve fibre and blood vessel. He feels it consume him. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in… Slowly the world begins to dim, and the aches of the day start to recede. He is at one with his Skill, which is at one with world. He is nothing in the darkness, nothingness seeping into the black. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in…

Kurt jumps to his feet as a sudden rush of fear sweeps through his body, lodging in the base of his stomach. The dresses; the dresses in the other dressing room – they were pristine, dust-free, well-_cared_ for. Someone lives here. Someone _is_ here - he can feel it, nibbling lightly at the edge of his Skill, blanketed in his fatigue before, but now persistent in its existence.

Mike.

Kurt looks down at the sleeping boy at his feet, before drawing his dagger from its sheathe and walking slowly towards the door. All senses focused towards detecting the slightest sound, he turns the handle and opens the door, wincing at the quiet shriek that echoes through the air and into the darkness of the auditorium beyond. He steps outside quickly, searching everywhere for that tiny pulse of life. Nothing, although…just…there!

Directly in front of him, through the tattered curtains, dangling wires and broken lights, in the middle of the stage someone is moving.

Kurt runs lightly up the steps and through the backstage area, edging past the curtains and onto the stage, his dagger raised, the Skill building inside him. He can see the bulky figure struggling slowly across the stage, and begins to urge his Skill the surface, feeling it pulsing behind his eyes, ready to…

Everything stops. He cannot move. It's just like the warehouse, with the lizard – his Skill is walled off, taken from him somehow. Kurt can feel his fear shooting through him as he irrationally awaits the red eyes, the flickering tongue of death. The figure before him stops and slowly turns around, dropping the thing it had been carrying over its shoulder at Kurt's feet. A slow, creeping chuckle bursts forth from the gloom, engulfing Kurt in unease.

"Well, well," speaks the darkness, in a high-pitched, lilting tone, "what have we here?"

* * *

><p><strong>Eek! I promise I won't leave you there for very long – will hopefully have the next chapter up tomorrow – tis all in my head, it's just the typing part that's tricky!<strong>

**Please feel free to let me know what you think!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **So by tomorrow, I clearly meant 2 weeks! Sorry – I went on holiday to a part of my country where internet reception is apparently a reclusive creature (and when it does appear it certainly isn't from my internet provider). I apologise for living in a country that exists several decades in the past.

So…I hear people aren't too happy with the last episode – I haven't seen it yet, so I can't comment – but maybe this will improve your mood!

**Warnings:** None.

I own nothing Glee-related.

Please enjoy (and don't forget that helpful suggestions are always appreciated!)!

* * *

><p>"Blaine. Psst Blaine. Wake up!"<p>

Soft light pulses gently beyond his sleep beckoning him to wakefulness. A sweet voice kisses up his neck to tug at his ear.

"Up, up! Come on, Blaine, you don't want to keep me waiting, do you?"

A familiar voice, filled with love. He can feel his eyelids flickering with want and unfurls his fingers to reach towards the sound, towards the warmth.

"Please, Blaine. Come on – please wake up."

He senses more now, layered between the warmth and want. The voice pries at his half-dreaming mind, pulling and pulling almost desperately. Kurt has never sounded desperate before. Kurt? Yes – home, comfort, love – Kurt.

"Blaine, please hurry – or we'll never get to the…"

Never get where? What? Where is he? Where is Kurt? The light beyond his eyes begins to brighten and the world appears with shutters clanging open. Cobalt eyes gaze down upon him, softened with affection, brightened with promise…

"Blaine. Blaine!"

The figure remains poised above him, bathed in morning light, lips unmoving…

Blaine slams himself from sleep, clutching the floor beneath him in an effort to try and calm his hammering pulse. The world is pitch-black, cloaked in the scent of stale sweat and the space on the floor beside him is empty. He searches around him in the dark, timidly questioning the silence, "Kurt?"

Nothing.

He rubs harshly at his eyes in an attempt rid them of the blurred edges of sleep, trying to ignore the awful sensation in his scratched throat as he swallows. He fumbles across the floor before him until his fingers brush against his bag and the precious water within. As each long draught soothes his throat and brings him closer to wakefulness, he starts to turn his attention to the dream that brought him here.

Blaine can feel a fast heat rushing across his cheeks at the thought of the Kurt from his dream. The affection in his voice, his face – the easy way he called to him.

It felt like everything he had ever wanted to find with someone…with Kurt…

He drops his head into his hands and pulls desperately at his curls. With Kurt…

Blaine longs to scream apart the walls of his current prison – but he is too scared…of the night. He thrusts his hands away from his head and slams them into the ground. Damn the pain. So many hours spent clutching at an escape from daily pain; so much hope invested in finding something to finally care about; all for a false dream. Not in this world – love does not exist in this place.

He sits still for several long moments, feeling the tension slip from his muscles and skip across the inky floor. He waits until his breathing has returned to normal, until he feels more like himself – timid, frightened, alone…

Alone.

Where is Kurt? He's been gone too long for…certain personal requirements. Blaine looks towards the door – it tips forward into the dark, slightly ajar. The darker gloom beyond beckons and repels. He sighs, trying to pack all of his courage into one impulsive nugget, before climbing to his feet and walking slowly towards the door. Placing a hand on the cool metal he pulls himself through the gap and out of the dressing room. His whisper chases through the darkness beyond, "Kurt?"

With one foot barely placed outside the room, the other leg caught midway through the motion for another step, he hears an offbeat chuckle follow his whisper back to him from the black mystery in the centre of the stage.

"Kurt?" he whispers again, fighting back the odd burst of fear that slips up his spine to place one foot slowly in front of the other.

* * *

><p>Kurt is struggling to catch his rising panic, before it ruins everything. Fear is nothing but a cacophony of hormones, he tells himself, surging through blood with misguided purpose. This is an irrational response to uncertainty…but he can't help himself – cannot help but fear whatever it is in the darkness before him.<p>

The voice strikes out at him from the gloom, further to his right this time. He feels as though he is being stalked – harmless prey in a helpless trap, "Lady Thom's been waiting for you, yes, yes indeed! And I'm so pleased that you came to visit, I mean, I wanted to get this out of the way first," he, because Kurt is sure it is a he, despite the affected higher tone and the title, moves suddenly in a symphony of crunching fabric. Kurt hears a soft thud and something that sounds like a sharp intake of breath: a person. Oh God – Mike.

This is rapidly becoming an unlikeable situation – the lives of three people struggle in the grasp of this moment, and Kurt has no Skill, Mike is hurt and has no Skill, and Blaine…

A sharp scratch echoes in the dark and the horrifying scene is suddenly illuminated by a disconcerting, flickering light. Kurt can now see the chilling laugh creeping from the lips of a tall, dark-skinned young man standing just within touching distance. As the light skims across the unknown face, Kurt can see smears of burgundy lipstick fleeing from the corners of his lips, and a thick coating of light-green eye shadow caked onto both eyelids. Deep red curls flap against his cheeks, extending from a dishevelled wig skewed upon his head, and as he reaches out his hand, Kurt can see the flash of bright red nails.

The fingers stop, mere inches from his face, "You're so beautiful, Kurt."

Kurt flinches at the sound of his name punching from the mouth of this creature. The young man moves the lighter in his hand closer to Kurt, raising it above his head to examine his prey. He laughs again, the high-pitched chuckle that like slams an electric rod into Kurt's spine every time he hears it, "Not exactly my type though – maybe she'll like you?"

* * *

><p>Every step is effortless; he ghosts his way across the floor, guided by an unknown force to hover hesitantly behind the curtains at the edge of the stage. Hands trembling, he grasps lightly at the tattered fabric, not daring to breathe as soft streams of dust billow out, brushing gently across his face. Blaine can see nothing but shadows before him, flickering faintly across his vision in a dim light, but he can hear the voice – high, cold and clear – slipping about his head, grasping at his stomach.<p>

"I can see why she wants you. Mike here…" a fragile groan inches through the silence, "…I don't really understand. He's certainly pretty, Lady Thom can see that, but hardly what I would call Skilled. Not like you…_Kurt_."

The name is a cursed whisper, caressing _his_ name in all the ways Blaine longs to. He scrunches his eyes shut and tightens his fist around the curtains, feeling some surprising small comfort in the breath of dust on his face and the smell of time in his nostrils. He must grow some courage.

* * *

><p>"No, no, no. You're special," the young man tilts his head to look at Kurt intently and then brings his nose closer until it is pressed against his skin, slippery with sweat, "I can <em>smell<em> it on you, dripping through the air – it coats you, it's everywhere, it's…oh God it's delicious." Kurt's mind reels in disgust as the man hums contentedly against his skin, pulling away to continue his dreaded laughter.

"And I've got you – both of you! All of that amazing Skill and you can't even move," the darkness suddenly retracts as he lets the flame extinguish, only to be brought back into dim light as he ignites it again, a manic grin stretching burgundy-stained lips into an absurd parody of glee, "She'll be so pleased – and finally they'll be able to see what I can do…see how useful Lady Thom can be!" he looks up at the flame, watching its dance for several moments as though enchanted. The illusion is shattered as he looks back to Kurt, a manic glint in his eyes, enhanced by shadow and flame, "Because you know what I can do, don't you beautiful, beautiful Kurt?" he stalks back towards Kurt, eyes roving across his face, "I can see the Skill in you – I feel it, always. And when I feel it…" he is directly in front of Kurt now, hot breath pushing against his face "…I can stop it. Poof! Just like that! Gone. God I'm fabulous!"

It is in that moment that Kurt decides to fuck off this pseudo-captivity and attempt to not die.

* * *

><p>It is in that moment that Blaine decides to do something…to save someone…finally.<p>

* * *

><p>A muted thud echoes past Kurt from the darkness behind him, and he feels a sudden rush of air; the dance of dust around his face urges him to sneeze, if only he could move to obey it. The man that calls himself the Lady Thom turns urgently towards the sound, features of distress etched across his face and into the rigidity of his limbs. For the first time Kurt can see a flash of panic rising within <em>his<em> eyes – he wishes he could smirk in satisfaction.

As the Lady Thom stalks out of his vision, Kurt can feel the corners of his mouth begin to edge upwards…wait…what? They continue in their trajectory and to his abject delight Kurt finds himself in possession of a fully-formed mocking smile – he can move. Barely noticing the streams of dust rushing past him, billowing up from the floor and flowing forward from the darkness, Kurt turns quickly, limbs screaming from the sudden return of blood and movement. The Lady Thom has his back towards him, bending down to inspect the remains of one of the stage curtains, now a tumbled ruin at his feet. Kurt takes a deep breath and tentatively reaches for his Skill, half-convinced he will feel nothing but human normality.

After a second of heart-bursting fear he finally feels the slight tendrils of his Skill slipping silently back to dance within his grasp. Leaving no time for thought he steps forward towards the man and the curtain, feeling the power build within. A flash of movement on the edge of his vision distracts him from his task and he turns to see a figure of shadow tumbling out from the black. Arm raised, the shadow-man hurtles towards the Lady Thom, who turns at the sudden return of sound. The arm descends, and, clasped within its fist, a plastic pipe connects with the skull before it with a wet crack.

Kurt takes a few minutes to stare in shock, before running forward to the prostrate figure and the terrified young man standing over him, "Jesus, Blaine…wha…I don't…" Kurt runs his fingers through his hair as he looks down at the Lady Thom, slumped unnaturally against the ground, his acid tongue finally stilled. He looks back across to Blaine, who has absolute horror painted across his face, "God – did I kill him? Kurt I'm sorry…I saw you, and him, and he was…going…to…God I don't know – I just thought, no I didn't think, I just did it and…oh God, what if I…" Kurt catches his words by placing his hand gently on Blaine's shoulder. He kneels down and places a hand on the Lady Thom's chest and then against his neck, "He's not dead Blaine, just unconscious. It's ok – not that I would be fundamentally against a more macabre outcome."

Kurt looks down again at the man on the floor, trying not to sneer in disgust, "Can you try and find something to tie him up, Blaine," the shorter boy nods and walks away towards the backstage area, returning shortly with rope salvaged from the curtain-pull. Kurt makes short work of binding their captive, floppy as a teddy bear from Blaine's well-placed hit. He sighs, hand hovering over the tattered wig; a part of him wants to rip it away, toss it aside – the other parts fuel his pity, stays his hand.

"I…I don't…" Blaine sighs behind him, frustrated and tense. Kurt pushes himself up from the ground to stand in front of the shorter boy. He reaches his hand out tentatively, and with a final sigh and shake of his head he crosses the small distance between his hand and Blaine's, taking it lightly in his. Blaine is staring at him in shock, his hazel eyes wide and slowly filling with tears. Kurt squeezes the fingers between his own, "Please….don't be upset, Blaine," he chances a small smile, "you saved me…yet again. Maybe I should put you on a permanent salary – personal body guard."

Blaine smiles softly at this, raising his sleeve to wipe his face, "I'm sorry – you must think…"

"That that was the stupidest, bravest, most amazing thing anyone's ever done for me?"

Blaine laughs quietly and looks down at their hands, still held against each other, "Wow – we really need to get out more!" Kurt smiles softly and pulls at Blaine's fingers, "Blaine?" but the other boy keeps his eyes safely trained downwards. "Blaine?" the tone in Kurt's voice forces Blaine to look up directly into his eyes; to see the truth presented there.

"Please Blaine, you did…you did so well – I can't thank you enough. God - see what you do to me?" Kurt moves to pull his hand away, his voice shaking with emotion, but Blaine holds him there.

For a moment all is still, and then Blaine moves forward to press his lips to Kurt's, and the world is reduced to the press of skin, the warmth of touch, the vibration of contentment; lips, hands, touch, breath, whisper – _not alone_.

* * *

><p><strong>Yay, finally! And I promise I haven't forgotten that Mike is lying crumpled on the ground behind them, they may have, but I haven't!<strong>

**Hope you enjoyed it – please feel free to let me know what you think!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** I am so very, very sorry for my appalling tardiness. I have no excuse – save finishing the last of 8 years of university, preparing for the real world and a long holiday. But I am truly, truly sorry – I aim to be better from now on! My boys will not be forgotten!

Anyway here we begin again (at least I left it on a happy note!). I'll start with a little reminder, just in cases.

**Warnings: **None.

I have no ownership over anything Glee-like.

Please feel free to let me know what you think (and I promise I will be better (with my timing) from now on!)!

* * *

><p>For a moment all is still, and then Blaine moves forward to press his lips to Kurt's, and the world is reduced to the press of skin, the warmth of touch, the vibration of contentment; lips, hands, touch, breath, whisper – <em>not alone<em>.

* * *

><p>Sweet, sharp shreds of happiness shoot outwards from his chest in time to the startling thrum in his chest. Blaine can feel everything – and it is wonderful. The press of the body against his excites every fibre of nerve, causing him to tremble in delight. Soft lips seem to pull his entire life to this moment – he could not be anywhere but here. It is…<p>

A muted groan creeps up from the floor and the perfect sensation is ripped from his body. Blaine flings his eyes open to see Kurt backing away from him, fingers raised to graze his bottom lip. He stands still for a moment to stare across at Blaine, blinking in confusion, before dropping his hand to his side, now clenched tightly, and turning towards the fallen figure beside them. The one they came to save.

Blaine inhales sharply as he feels the threat of tears begin to build behind his eyes. He got it wrong; like always. What the hell is the matter with him? He turns away from the taller boy, who has knelt beside his friend, the concern etched across his features only barely hiding his tension. His disgust. Blaine swipes the back of his hand across his face, angrily banishing the small collection of moisture so he can turn and stare at the rows of chairs, battered and broken, staring back at him. He cannot handle the sounds of pain behind him, or the soft words of comfort and reassurance that he wants for himself. So he puts one foot slowly in front of the other, creeping towards the edge of the stage, and with the practiced ease of an athlete, jumps delicately off, landing softly on the floor of the auditorium. With as little thought as possible he quietly walks up the steps, away from…everything…anything. He must be anywhere but here.

* * *

><p>Kurt cannot think, can hardly breathe – can do nothing but move, slowly and surely to where his friend lies wretchedly against the floor. Mike – finally. He swallows the other feelings sharply, brushes away the tingling on his lips with his fingers and pushes the sight of the shorter boy from the edge of his vision. Bubbling up from within, streaking past stunningly warm patches of pride, desire…love, a sour taste severs his composure – shame; pure, unbridled shame.<p>

How could he had forgotten, left his best friend to pain and horror whilst he looked for what he had desperately craved. How selfish, after everything. Kurt kneels down next to Mike, trying to ignore the soft footfalls behind him, the soft thud of departure, "Mike. Mike, can you hear me?" his friend groans softly in response. Narrowing his eyes in concern, Kurt fumbles towards him. He traces the outline of Mike's face, wincing as he groans once again, moving his head in a feeble attempt at escape from the pain. Kurt continues to run his hands over his friend's body, guided by the slowly brightening light – it must be close to dawn. He catalogues each cut and bruise, counting them in sharp intakes of breath, in agonised movements and pitiful moans. The tears slip down his face unnoticed, falling to suspend the dust on the floorboards below.

Kurt moves into a crouch and, snaking his arm beneath Mike's, hauls them both into a standing position. With small, heavy steps he begins to carry his friend to the dressing rooms, taking care to avoid the dim figure of his tormentor, still sprawled across the stage, unmoving. With each step Kurt tries to cover his shame with the futures now spread before them – I made it; he's still alive; we'll be fine.

He fails to notice the faint stirrings that push the dust to form fine, almost imperceptible waves against the hard, wooden floor.

* * *

><p>Blaine draws his fingers slowly through the thick layer of dust resting on the metal walkway. He watches as small specs billow upwards to dance beneath his hand, illuminated by muted rays of light penetrating the walls at various odd angles throughout the auditorium. Dawn.<p>

As he moves his hand further away to disturb the dust in more distant circles, the topography changes slightly below his fingertips. His skin snags on the uneven surface, and he stops his passage to clear away the dirt to see what is hidden beneath. The black paint has been scratched away, forming strange shapes barely visible in the gloom. He traces over them with caution: WS TM, with an oddly skewed circle in the middle. No, not a circle. He remembers that symbol from some vestige of a memory, pairs it with the great muscle in the chest. Air goes in and out, blood goes round and round – that's what Kay's mum had always taught them. And what sends it round, pushing those tiny cells to their necessary destination – keeping us alive, the most important organ in the body, she always said – the heart. It means something else, he remembers, something that has nothing to do with cells or oxygen or living – love.

He sighs heavily and pushes the dust violently away, watching as it sweeps into the air above the auditorium, to then turn and fall slowly, joining the rest in covering the seats below. When he has finished staring into space he looks down towards the stage, watching as Kurt helps his friend across it and past the curtains – no doubt heading for the rooms where they had spent the previous night. He waits until he is sure he is alone before he releases the wretched sobs curled in his chest and clutches his knees tightly, using the fabric at his knees to soak up his tears. Yes - love has nothing to do with life.

So caught in his own self pity, Blaine also fails to notice the movements on the stage; fails to notice as their captive groans in pain, sits up stiffly, staggers to his feet and, with a furtive glance over his shoulder towards the dressing rooms, straightens his wig and jogs across the stage to exit through the opposite wing. It is only when Blaine angrily swipes at his tears, realising that nothing will stop the angry pain curling in his stomach that he sees that the stage is bare – empty of everything expect the swirling patterns etched across the dirty floor.

He jerks to his feet, grasping the metal railings with a shock in his chest as the walkway shudders alarmingly with the sudden movement. He waits a moment for the swaying to stop and his heart to slow before gingerly picking his way across to the ladder he had used to ascend; nothing feels right again until his feet are firmly on level ground and his pulse quiets. That is, of course, until he looks again at the stage, singing with recently-vacated emptiness.

He stumbles down to the stage stairs and looks around him in heart-in-mouth panic without really discerning why. So the crazy man-woman is gone – what does it matter? They'll be safe here, with him gone. Unless, Blaine realises, he has gone for help. Then they would be stranded in an unknown trap with an injured man, against God knows what. So he has to tell Kurt…or…

Blaine stares intently at the patterns in the dust and follows them across the stage to exit through the tattered curtains on the opposite side of the stage to the one used by Kurt and his friend. He moves his feet softly and with purpose, fists balled against his sides in an effort to grasp at fleeing courage. In the dim light he can barely see, but odd shafts pierce the gloom at various intervals, uncertainly illuminating his path. He follows the disturbances in the dust, turning first a corner, stepping quietly over fallen debris, and up a short set of stairs, pausing finally at a door. It is slightly ajar - the sharp burst of light irritates his shadow-adjusted eyes and he looks away into the gloom. This is where he went – Blaine sees only one real choice…in the present circumstances.

He breathes in slowly, and then breathes out all his doubts, most of his fear. Hand trembling against the metal he pushes the door open, narrowing his eyes to meet the light. Heart hammering he steps out into the dawn air. In the distance, stark in its movement against the horrific stillness of the ruined landscape, he can just see a figure climbing a slight hill to his left – staggering slowly towards the rising sun. Making up his mind he turns to push the door to, pausing to place a small piece of wood between it and the frame, propping it open for a hopeful return. Keeping his eyes on the retreating form, he kneels into the ground once more, feeling about him on the ground until he finds what he is looking for. He rises to his feet, long metal bar in hand and takes his first step towards his own version of absolution.

* * *

><p>Kurt hums softly; a gentle collection of notes that mean nothing except that they seem to fit together. The boy lying before him seems calmer in their presence and the sound, slipping cautiously about them through the darkness, is comforting to Kurt as well. But he is uneasy without Blaine. He is neither ignorant of the other boy's hurt and confusion, nor blind to his need for solitude. Kurt nurses his own regrets in the dark and tries to compose himself to the music – tries to find a place for the shame, another for the desperate need to feel Blaine's skin against his, and somewhere to put that other feeling that threatens to overcome him entirely. The hum holds him and helps.<p>

A few more minutes, when Mike is definitely asleep, exhausted after Kurt has done his best with his injuries, he will go to Blaine – explain – just a little while longer. The notes slip about him and he feels the faint echo of a sense of peace. Everything will be fine – they have Mike, he is safe. He will find Blaine and be understood. They will carve out a place somehow, and be free and happy. Just a few more minutes...

The soft notes creep through the shadows, inching out the door of the dressing room to dance with the dust across the stage floor. They skip cheerfully around the corner and up the stairs to squeeze out the small gap in a door, wedged open by a small piece of wood. Here they begin to fade, winking out one by one. Not one reaches the sharp, determined steps of a small figure striding across the desolate landscape, pushing against the morning wind which whips amongst his dark curls.

* * *

><p><strong>Dear, dear – a bit melancholic. Must be because it's Sunday evening!<strong>

**Hope you enjoyed – please feel free to let me know what you think! **


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